


What the hell do we do with Bucky?

by Belsmomaus



Series: The Hell-Series [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Changing POVs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Memory flashbacks, Mental Instability, OUAT season 4A, Recovering!Bucky, Trauma, even some tiny bits of fluff, other MCU or OUAT characters are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 116,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belsmomaus/pseuds/Belsmomaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Where the hell is Bucky?'</p><p>- His muscles were numb from the strain of being stuck in this damn machine for days. Numb from all the tension and no relief. He looked up through his lashes, too exhausted to raise his head properly. His tongue felt thick and useless.<br/>“Help… me…” - </p><p>Jefferson and Steve finally find Bucky.<br/>And they have to realize that they've never really thought any further than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Finally, FINALLY, it's finished!!! :D
> 
> A lot of you asked about a sequel. Here it is! I hope all the hard work of these last months pays off and you enjoy it! Anyway, it was fun - and sometimes quite aggravating - to further explore these characters and to delve into the minds of other characters that were still new to me.
> 
> There are 22 chapters ahead of you and I will post one either each day or every other day. The story will definitely be completely published before "Captain America: Civil War" hits the cinemas!
> 
> The story starts exactly where the last one ended. Only this time the point of view changes throughout the story. Just so you know.  
> The time frame is parallel to season 4A of "Once upon a time" (in case some of you haven't seen that yet...). However I think it should still be possible to enjoy the story without knowing the series (in case of questions, just go ahead, I won't bite *g*).
> 
> I'm no expert in psychiatry or trauma or anything the like. Far from it. But I tried my best - which might still be far from reality, I really wouldn't know - and the portrayed views are not necessarily equivalent with my own. 
> 
> Special thanks goes to Padblack who suffered through all my enthusiasm and complaints and me talking non-stop about this story and these characters for months now. Thanks for putting up with me, especially since you don't really like any of these characters.  
> Also a bit "Thank you" to ninetiesnecklace and calamity-kitten (tumblr) for helping me out with ideas and some brainstorming-sessions when I was stuck.

** A Touch of Memories **

 

Footsteps.

There were footsteps. Coming closer.

He knew he should be alarmed, should be on high alert. Footsteps were a bad sign. A sign of someone coming back. Someone…

_Rumlow!_

But he couldn’t.

His muscles were numb from the strain of being stuck in this damn machine for days. Numb from all the tension and no relief. He wasn’t even sure if they were still hurting him or not. It all blurred together. The terrible pain from his head, the dull throbbing that made him feel as if the ground was spinning sometimes. He was so tired. He just wanted to get out of here. Out of that damn contraption he was stuck in.

He just wanted to lie down.

Rest.

Just…

Movement. The footsteps had stopped.

He looked up through his lashes, too exhausted to raise his head properly. There was a shape in the dark opening on the other side of the room, or two shapes? It was blurry and too dark and the angle was all wrong… he couldn’t be sure.

He knew he should feel something. Alertness, the need to protect himself, to assess the situation. But there was nothing. Not even fear. He was beyond really caring.

Suddenly the shape was much closer, kneeling down, almost on eye level. When did that happen? He’d just blinked, hadn’t he?

The features got clearer at this distance. Broad shoulders and blond hair and blue eyes. He blinked again, trying to clear his vision some more, but his eyes were so terribly dry that every movement of his lids felt like sandpaper.

He knew…

_The man from the bridge. From the carrier. The man who fell._

_Steve._

_His name is Steve._

His parched lips moved on their own accord, forming words, not waiting for a conscious thought. It should be an easy task, but it wasn’t. His tongue felt thick and useless.

“Help… me…”

He could barely hear it himself.

The blond man – _Steve_! – looked worried. Or sad? Even more so than before.

Maybe he had heard.

But he couldn’t be real, could he?

He hadn’t been last time.

_I’m hallucinating. Again._

He found that he didn’t care.

“Bucky? Hey, Buck, stay with me!”

_Bucky…_

_That’s me. That’s_ my _name._

_I have a name._

Blinking, Steve was even closer now. Right in front of him, his left hand gripping his right shoulder, the one that was still flesh and blood. Steadying him.

He was so close. Those blue eyes so full of pain. So full of memories of a life together, a life he’d seen displayed in a museum. A life he barely managed to touch in sudden flashes, but it was never enough. He’d been able to form a blurry picture, get some vague impressions, but it felt distant, disconnected. He just couldn’t put it together, couldn’t fit the few things he saw and felt during those tiny memory fragments into the being he was now.

Faint mumbling surrounded him. Hearing his name made him focus again.

“… Buck. God, what did he do to you?”

Steve leaned even closer, lifting his other hand.

He followed the movement, unsure of its intent, but too far gone for being alarmed.

_He’ll never hurt you._

And he knew it was true. Felt it from somewhere deep inside.

_I’m not gonna fight you._

_A shield dropping._

_You’re my friend._

The touch came unexpected nevertheless. He startled, his head jerked slightly and his breath hitched for a second.

_He won’t hurt you. He won’t hurt you._

“Ssh, I won’t hurt you.”

He relaxed again. Moving, tensing his muscles like that, it was just too straining. And it hurt. And his head pounded even more now.

The soft press of the palm against his brow was pleasantly cool. And familiar.

He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. He knew this. He knew…

_Steve was looking down at him, frowning, worry clear in his eyes. And his palm heavenly cold against his forehead. But this Steve was different, scrawny and pale, only his face was the same. “Jeez, you’re burning up, Buck.”_

_There was a woman, feeling his brow, her hand so much bigger than his aching head. Her light brown hair pulled back behind her ears. She smiled._

_Another woman took her place. Vibrant green eyes held his gaze, so full of love. Her mouth curved into a soft smile, barely there and yet it filled him with warmth. “It’s not so bad, honey. Don’t worry, you’ll be up to no good in no time.”_

He was breathing heavily. Even more so than before.

_Honey._

_She called me “honey”._

Desperately he tried to hold on to her. To that memory that made his heart ache, that made him want to see that smile again. He suddenly longed for her presence, her comfort. Her voice.

 _Mama_.

The word was just there. Out of nowhere, just another flash of sudden recognition. But this time he could connect it. And he knew that it fit.

It was right. It _felt_ right.

His mother. His actual mother. His _real_ mother.

He’d never remembered her before.

But now that he had he wanted more.

Voices brought him back to the present. Sluggishly he opened his eyes. There was movement. Someone else was standing there. Maybe. He was dizzy and his brain hurt too much to focus properly.

“Hey.” His eyes zeroed in on Steve again. He held something in his hands. “Drink.”

A small plastic bottle was pressed against his lips and a second later water ran into his mouth. His body reacted on instinct. He swallowed, waited till more of it filled his dry mouth and swallowed again. Rivulets of water dribbled down over his chin as his swollen tongue worked clumsily and he gulped the liquid down more and more greedily.

It felt so real, not like last time he’d imagined Steve rescuing him. But this had to be a hallucination. Right?

Then the water was suddenly gone.

He groaned.

_More. I need more._

“Sorry, Buck, but you need to slow down. Or you’ll be sick.”

His mouth felt dry again already. Gone the sweet bliss of water. Some of the bad taste in his mouth had been washed away though.

“Look at me!”

He complied. It was an order after all. And that’s what he did, right? Following orders?

But this was different.

The insistent throbbing inside his skull darkened his vision for a moment. Obscuring the bright blond hair behind a dark veil. Separating them.

_No!_

He fought the dizziness. Couldn’t lose the connection. Not now.

Steve looked serious. Determined. And worried of course. All of it concealing a fuming rage underneath. That rage should alarm him. Yet it calmed him. He didn’t understand.

But he’d seen that look before. He was sure of it, he…

_That face, hovering above him. “It’s me. It’s Steve.” Hands tugged at restraints. “I thought you were dead.”_

“… will stay with you, alright? I’ll get you out of here, I promise!”

_What?_

Steve squeezed his shoulder then he got up.

_No, don’t leave. Steve, don’t…_

Movement again. It was making him dizzy.

Someone else was kneeling in front of him now. Too close for his liking. This wasn’t Steve after all.

He blinked, trying to focus again. This was new. This had never happened before. It had only ever been Steve who came to save him.

Dark hair, pale face, blue eyes.

His heart missed a beat and his rapid breath hitched.

_Cold was creeping in on him from all directions. There was glass in front of him, a man in a white lab coat with a surgical mask on the other side, watching him. The light was dimming outside, showing him his reflection in the dark surface. Pale and confused. What was going on? Who was that person that looked back at him?_

_Who was that man with the lost look in his sad blue eyes?_

_The cold ended all thoughts soon after that._

“Bucky? Hey, Bucky? Can you hear me?”

His heart was beating again, pounding hard against his ribs, pounding its harsh rhythm until it reverberated in his skull. Stoking up the throbbing pain.

It wasn’t cold. He wasn’t in a cryogenic unit. Couldn’t be.

The man’s hair was short. And he wasn’t looking lost. No, there was a whole whirlwind of emotions waiting behind that blue eyes, he could barely get a hold of any of them. Pain and relief. Anger and sorrow. And worry again.

He wasn’t looking at a reflection.

_The water was rippling softly. “There.” A small hand pointed at something shiny in the mud of the shallow pond. But on the surface danced the reflection of two small boys, looking just the same._

He gasped, staring. Taking in the pale features with desperation now, his eyes flickering over his face, noticing the broken smile and the tears.

The name popped up out of the depth of his mind, a place he suddenly knew _they_ had never touched. But one he’d buried himself a long time ago. Buried deep. It tumbled over his chapped lips in a hoarse whisper, in a desperate, unbelieving plea.

“Jeff…”

And with a sudden clarity he knew – he just _knew_ – that this wasn’t real. Just a figment of his brain, shutting down. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

A hoarse laugh sounded, or maybe a sob. “Bucky!”

He was touching him. The man who looked like himself, but wasn’t. Jefferson, the hallucination of his twin brother was touching him.

He’d placed his hands against the sides of his face, framing it, keeping it in place.

Restraining him.

Only he wasn’t.

He was grounding him.

His thumbs stroked against his cheeks and new tears welled up behind the man’s eyes. A sad and yet strangely happy smile graced his lips. It was the same as the woman’s. His mother’s.

It was too much. He couldn’t take it. Too much input, too many images. His head hurt. He couldn’t process, couldn’t…

He shut his eyes.

“Oh Bucky, I’ve missed you so much!”

The hands on his face moved further, pushing the filthy strands of his hair out of his face, until the fingers hooked around the back of his neck. The thumbs rested just before his ears.

He acted on instinct, had no idea what he was doing, only that it felt _right_.

He leaned forward, his neck and shoulders screaming at the unexpected movement.

Softly his forehead bumped against the other man’s brow.

The touch of skin against skin was like a shock, running through his whole body. Leaving him breathless and trembling. And yet his muscles started relaxing almost instantly and his mind calmed down slowly. He leaned into the touch, bathing in its familiarity.

He didn’t care if this was real or not.

No, that was a lie.

He _wanted_ this to be real. He wanted Steve to be here. And he wanted his brother, holding him close.

But it wasn’t.

It couldn’t be.

His eyes burned hot. Hadn’t he been so parched and thirsty, he was sure he’d be crying right now. It was a strange sensation. Foreign.

“It’s gonna be alright, Bucky. We’re here now.”

He wanted this _so much_.

 _You never get what you want. You’re not_ supposed _to want._

It couldn’t hurt to pretend, could it?

He felt the hands at his neck trembling slightly.

“I’ll never leave you again. You hear me? _Never again_!”

He was so tired. He sank heavier against his brother who removed one hand to grab his shoulder, steadying his sagging body. But he barely felt it. The only thing he focused on was the touch at his forehead.

A touch so full of warm memories, surprisingly easy to grasp.

A touch of comfort.

The throbbing in his head dulled into a distant nuisance, unimportant. Far away.

The pain of his strained muscles, of his dry throat, it all lost importance.

“Bucky? Stay with me, brother!”

He felt himself slipping.

But he didn’t care.

He knew he wasn’t alone.

Someone would catch him.

He was with family.

He was home.

It couldn’t hurt to pretend.

 

TBC


	2. Part One: Shock - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Bucky is only the beginning.  
> And it's amazing how fast joy can transform into worry. Or fear.

**Part One: Shock**

 Shuttle Service

 

“Steve!“ Jefferson cried out with urgency.

His brother was slumping against him, his head slipping from its position against his forehead and sagging against the crook of his neck. Even through the fabric of his shirt and cravat he could feel Bucky’s worryingly warm skin.

His elation over finding his brother, touching him, holding him close had quickly overrun his fury at the man who’d done this to him – at least for the moment. But right now his joy spiraled into concern at breakneck speed.

“What is it?” Steve pressed out, his voice strained.

“Hurry up! I think- I think he’s lost consciousness.”

There was something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, then, “I’m almost there.”

Jefferson edged a little closer towards his brother to get a better grip on him. When Steve got him free of that contraption he needed to be able to hold him. Bucky was one bulk of a man, nothing but hard muscle wherever his hands roamed over his back and shoulders to get a good grip. And he was looming over him, sitting on that crate whereas Jefferson merely kneeled on the floor.

“I’ve got you, brother. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.“

A grinding noise filled the room, accompanied by occasional grunts from Steve, but all through it, Jefferson kept the soft litany of mumbled assurances going.

He could feel the heavy weight of his brother pressing up against him, could feel the rapid and shallow movements of his chest, in sync with the hot puffs of breath that tickled his jaw. He could smell the stink of dried urine and an unwashed body, could feel the greasy strands of hair that fell across his nose and lips as he buried his face closer against his brother.

This was real.

All of it.

Every joyous and horrible second of it.

“Alright, hold on. I’ve almost got it.”

And Steve did.

There was a creak then panting and finally metal grating against metal. Something moved.

And suddenly Bucky’s lifeless body _really_ fell against him.

Jefferson tensed up, digging his fingers hard into the massive shoulders and hard back of his brother and pushed against the deadweight. Until the metal arm slid over the edge of the machine and hit them both in the side.

His eyes shot open with a grunt and he tried to find his equilibrium, struggling with the extra weight and the sharp pain in his thigh where the metal hand had impacted.

“Steeeve,” he ground out.

Every muscle in his body screamed at this abuse. He was slowly dragged backwards, losing the battle of keeping Bucky upright.

Suddenly the weight decreased and he saw Steve, his hands on Bucky’s upper arms. Together they managed to ease him down on the floor. Steve’s hands immediately moved to his neck, checking his friend’s pulse, before he touched the back of his fingers against the exposed skin there. Steve’s lips thinned and his brow creased.

Jefferson had seen this look before and he knew it was mirrored on his own face. He had felt the feverish skin himself. Had heard the rugged breathing.

Unable to lose the connection with his brother, he laced his fingers with Bucky’s.

“We need to take him to a hospital!”

Steve sat back, conflicting emotions flitting across his face. “We can’t.”

He must have misheard that.

“What?”

“It’s too dangerous.“

Jefferson’s mouth dropped open in shock. He couldn’t believe this. His fingers closed tighter around his brother’s while his other hand shot out and grabbed the blond’s upper arm. On any other man his fingertips might have left bruises.

“Bucky has been strapped to that machine for _five_ days! Maybe even longer! He’s severely dehydrated, barely coherent and now unconscious. Enhanced or not, this won’t just right itself with making him drink a few bottles of water. He _needs_ a hospital!”

He fixed his eyes on Steve, letting every bit of his determination show while his voice trembled with barely concealed anger. “Listen carefully! I don’t care if his appearance raises questions. I don’t care if it calls the government’s attention on him. Or Hydra’s. Or S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. He could _die_ , Steve! And I won’t let that happen. I WON’T!”

Steve met his gaze levelly and placed his hand on Jefferson’s.

“I know. And that’s not what I meant. I meant that it’s too dangerous to bring him to a normal hospital. Not just _for_ Bucky also _because of_ him. As much as I hate to say this but he has the potential to be dangerous and deadly. And we don’t know his current state of mind. We can’t just take him anywhere.”

“Then where would you suggest?” Jefferson had to admit – although grudgingly – that there was truth in Steve’s words. Something he hadn’t thought about. But also something he wouldn’t spare a second thought if push came to shove.

Steve hesitated, his gaze falling down on Bucky. He took his hand away from Jefferson’s in favor of pushing some strands of hair out of Bucky’s face. “There’s only one place that I can think of right now. And that’s in New York.”

“ _New York_? That’s a six hour drive! No! No way!” That was far too long. His brother might be something like a super-soldier but he wasn’t about to put that to the test. If there was no other facility nearer to their location then a normal hospital would have to…

_Wait. There is._

„Storybrooke! We can take him to Storybrooke.“ He saw the skeptical frown and pushed any possible reply away by elaborating – and finally released his grip on the other man. “Believe me, that town knows how to deal with someone dangerous.”

They did.

Cora, Pan, the Wicked Witch. They had faced all of them and won. But those weren’t the ones on his mind right now. He was thinking about Regina. About Hook and Ruby and even Gold. The people of Storybrooke knew how to face danger, but they were also able to look behind the façade and grant second chances.

“Alright.” It was obvious that Steve wasn’t convinced but a three hours drive was better than a trip twice as long. And obviously his worry had won. “Stay with him. I’ll get us a car.”

The soldier’s gaze lingered on Bucky for a moment before he stood up, clearly reluctant to leave his friend. “I won’t be long.” And with those words he finally turned and left, the receding thuds of his running steps echoing through the empty building.

Jefferson immediately turned to his brother, pushing away all his questions about how Steve was planning on “getting them a car” in the first place. His eyes lingered for a moment on Bucky’s slack face, his chapped lips, slightly opened, but his eyes were drawn to that monstrous looking metal arm that peeked out from the sleeve of his red Henley.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky.” That’s when he spotted the damage. Whatever his arm had been trapped in it had squeezed it badly, leaving the metal plates from the middle of his forearm down to his wrist badly dented. “So, so sorry.”

He shifted closer to his brother’s side and tried to gently push his head and shoulders up a bit. No easy feat but he managed to slip one leg underneath him so that his head now rested elevated on his thigh. He couldn’t help touching him, not after decades of separation. With surprisingly steady fingers he pushed Bucky’s hair back, traced the outline of his face along the rough stubble on his jaw, mapping all the similarities and all the differences before his hand trailed down further until it came to rest on his chest, right over his heart.

“Just hold on, okay? Steve will be back soon and Victor will know what to do when we’re back in Storybrooke. Promise!”

_Victor! I should let him know!_

Quickly he fumbled for his phone in his pockets. If he called ahead Victor had time to prepare everything he needed to help Bucky and could inform his staff as well as Regina and Emma about the danger his brother might present.

For a moment the picture from his brother’s file popped up in his mind, the one with the scientists and all the strange equipment and he remembered Victor’s lab in that black and white land of his. He shook his head, banishing those thoughts from his mind. Yes, he knew what Victor was capable of. The terrifying stuff but also the amazing things. He trusted his friend. At least more than any other doctor.

Upon looking at his phone he paused. There were three missed calls from Grace and a text. Anxiousness immediately wrapped around him and pulled tight, making it hard to breathe.

Something had happened. He knew it.

And he hadn’t heard. Hadn’t even noticed the vibration.

_Grace! Oh God, Grace, are you alright?_

He needed to know, needed to hear her voice. But the rapid movements of the chest underneath his hand and the rasping breaths that filled the room made him halt again. His brother needed him.

“Dammit!” he cursed as he dialed Victor’s number. The physician might know of a way he could help his brother and immediately afterwards he’d call Grace.

His right leg twitched impatiently as he waited. “Come on, Victor. Answer the damn phone!”

“Jefferson?” asked a very surprised voice. “I thought you were out looking for your brother. I wasn’t expecting- listen, I’m in the middle of my shift and- wait, are you calling because-“

He really had no time for this.

“I found him, Victor. He’s- they held him captive and- he’s in bad shape. We’re bringing him back to Storybrooke and I need you to-“

Victor cut him off, an uncharacteristic nervous tinge to his voice. “You can’t. Haven’t you heard?”

His blood felt like ice all of a sudden. Something _had_ happened. Something big. “What are you talking about?“ His voice trembled in apprehension.

“There’s a giant wall made from ice surrounding the town. We’re completely cut off from the outside world.”

“What?” Jefferson stammered.

_A wall of ice? Storybrooke cut off? Grace!_

“What happened? What about Grace? Is she alright?“ The questions tumbled out of his mouth faster than he could take a breath.

“Calm down, Jeff. Nobody’s been hurt as far as I know. Everything’s alright. Well, apart from that wall. I don’t know anything about it, really, only that it’s impossible to get in or out of town at the moment. You said your brother’s in bad shape? Tell me more, maybe I can help you anyway.”

Jefferson took a deep breath, trying to calm his worry about his daughter. No one has been hurt. Just a strange wall of ice appearing out of nowhere.

_Just a normal day in Storybrooke, then. And with the worst timing ever._

_No one’s been hurt._

_She’s okay._

_No one’s been hurt._

He pushed all distracting thoughts aside to concentrate on the important things at hand. The one’s he could actually do something about.

“He’s been locked up for days without water. He was weak and barely conscious when we found him and now he’s unconscious.”

“ _Days_? Good Lord! What about his pulse and his breathing?”

He lifted his hand up to Bucky’s neck and searched for his pulse. “He’s breathing way too fast and shallow. And his pulse is fast. And hard to feel. Oh, and I think he has a fever. What does that mean, Victor?“

“It means you need to get him to a hospital as fast as you can. If he’s been that long without water it’s possible his kidneys will shut down or he might fall into a coma. He needs fluids and constant monitoring. Try to rouse him and make him drink if possible. But, by all means, take him to a hospital. Quick!”

Victor’s words reverberated in his head, multiplying, threatening him with all kinds of horrible scenarios.

_Breathe, Jefferson. You need a cool head now. You need to help Bucky!_

Something blared through the phone, voices were shouting with urgency. “Jeff, I need to go. Fluids and a hospital, you got me? Let me know what happens, alright?”

“I will. Thanks Vic.“

“And Jeff. I’m glad you found him.“

The connection ended abruptly.

“Alright. Fluids…“ He spotted the water bottle Steve had used earlier lying on the floor not far away. With a bit of stretching he was able to reach it. Not daring to think too much about anything he patted his brother’s cheek.

“Come on, Bucky. Wake up!”

There was no reaction. He hadn’t expected one, although he’d hoped.

This time, he put more force into it, flinching at the resounding slap. “I’m sorry, brother. Just… oh please, just wake up!” He bit his lip. “ _Please_!”

He wasn’t sure what he was pleading for. For Bucky to wake up. For Steve to come back so he wouldn’t feel so alone and helpless. For his brother to be okay, to forgive him. Forgive him for the slapping, for letting him fall into the portal, for giving up hope. For everything.

Jefferson slapped him again, with less force this time. He couldn’t hurt him further. Just couldn’t. Instead he grabbed his shoulder, recoiling when he felt the hard metal through the thin shirt. He’d totally forgotten about that. So he grabbed the other one and gave him a shake.

There was a groan.

“Bucky?”

He patted his brother’s cheek again, observed the miniscule movement of discomfort on his brow and the occasional twitches of his eyelids. He groaned again.

“I guess this’ll have to do.”

Jefferson grabbed the bottle, unscrewed it with one hand and tilted Bucky’s head up with his other hand. Carefully he placed the bottle against the lips of the semi-conscious man, hoping that his reflexes would take care of the rest.

For once, luck was on his side. His brother swallowed sip after sip of water until Jefferson remembered Steve’s warning about being sick and took the bottle away. Droplets of water glistened in the short hairs of his beard as he settled back against Jefferson’s thigh with another moan.

“Shh. It’s going to be okay.”

Of course he didn’t know that, but he was hell bent on believing it.

He watched his brother’s face going slack and wiped the remnants of water from his chin. Placing his hand on Bucky’s chest again he fumbled for his phone and checked the text message. It was from Grace.

>I tried to call you but couldn’t reach you. There’s a wall of ice surrounding Storybrooke. It appeared out of nowhere. Henry said his mother is already working on it. And I’m alright. So there’s no need to worry :) Love you Papa<

His eyes closed involuntarily as the pressure around his chest eased with his relief. This wasn’t over but at least he knew his little girl was alright for the moment and in good hands. No matter which of Henry’s mothers she’d referred to he found that he trusted them both to take care of the town.

Footsteps came closer. Pretty fast. And shortly thereafter Steve hurried around the corner, his eyes instantly darting down to check on Bucky.

“A car is outside. Let’s go!”

And with just those few words the worry enclosed him again in its unyielding grip.

“We can’t. Storybrooke is currently cut off from the outside. We have to take him to the nearest hospital. _Now_! No matter the consequences.”

Steve looked completely taken aback by that information. Different emotions were at war on his face, making him hesitate.

_You can’t possibly still be thinking about taking him to New York?!_

Just then Steve’s phone rang.

 

 

 

“He’s here.”

Steve recognized the soft whooshing sound that filtered through the halls and broken windows of the rundown building. Still kneeling at Bucky’s side he looked at Jefferson.

“Get your bag. It’s time to go!”

Gently he pushed his arms underneath Bucky’s shoulders and knees and lifted his – even for him – surprisingly heavy body up from the other man’s lap and into his arms. He readjusted his grip, making Bucky’s head loll against his chest and his right arm slip down to dangle freely.

Jefferson – still on the floor – gingerly stretched his legs, his face screwed up in a grimace. Steve winced in sympathy. His legs must have gone dead in that position, especially with Bucky’s weight on top. But the former thief didn’t complain, instead he got up and grabbed his backpack although his movements seemed slightly awkward and stumbling at first.

“I really hope you’re right about this.”

_Yeah. Me too._

He dreaded that confrontation more than he could say. Had purposefully staved it off as long as possible.

When Jefferson had dropped the bombshell about Storybrooke he hadn’t known what to do. He wanted nothing more than to help his best friend – _we found him, we really did_ – but he remembered their last encounter only too well. He couldn’t risk something like that around civilians.

Luckily Tony had chosen that exact moment to call him back. And Steve hadn’t thought twice, just seized the chance, the best solution he could see.

_“Hey Gramps, what’s up? Two calls in a day, one could think you miss me.”_

_“Tony, thank God, you called.” His relief over finding a possible solution to this mess got the better of him, but at least it did the trick. All playfulness was gone in Tony’s reply and replaced by a rarely shown seriousness._

_“Cap? What’s wrong?”_

_“I need your help. There’s someone in critical condition here who needs immediate medical attention, but a normal hospital is out of the question. Could…”_

_He didn’t need to say more. “Jarvis, pinpoint his position and get the quinjet ready. I’m on my… what the hell are you doing in Vermont? Alright, whatever, you sit tight. I’ll make sure that the medlab is ready for you and see you in around 15.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_Jefferson glowered at him as soon as he dropped his phone. “You called him here_ now _?”_

_It took him a moment to realize why the man seemed angry above all else. He’d only told him that Tony would be able to help them find Bucky. They had found him now. Of course he couldn’t understand why he’d seek help from someone who held a grudge against Bucky._

_“The medical facilities I was talking about earlier, that are Tony’s. He’s got the best doctors and the place is more than secure. He’ll be here shortly and take us there.”_

_“New York is too far away. He might not last that long, Steve!”_

_“The jet is pretty fast. Won’t take longer than 20 minutes.”_

_Jefferson’s eyes widened for a moment, before they narrowed again. “Providing that he will help. I don’t like it, it’s too risky.”_

_“He will. He has to.”_

_He hoped, unable to shake the uneasy feeling._

With Jefferson hot on his heels he headed through the building back to the entrance. He could already spot the quinjet through one of the grimy windows.

Steve still didn’t know what to think. What to feel. He was more than happy that his long lost friend was finally here, back with him, that they got another chance. But seeing Bucky like this, it had reminded him way too much of another time he’d found his friend tied up in a factory building.

It made him feel helpless and he hated that.

And it made him angry. Angry at Rumlow.

_Rumlow is dead and your anger helps no one right now._

He glanced down at his friend. His greasy hair fell across his face, obscuring parts of it. But instead of making him look angry and dangerous like back on the helicarrier it only made him look young and tired.

_Help… me…_

That image would stick with him forever. Bucky, exhausted and clearly at the end of his rope, hanging next to that machine, looking at him with those dull, red eyes. Looking at him with recognition. Actual recognition.

That hadn’t been the Winter Soldier looking back at him, but Bucky.

_You have to be back, Buck. Please, you have to. I need you, pal._

Carefully he stepped over the kicked-in door and through the opening out into the warm evening light. The jet stood right in front of the building, engines still running and Tony waited right on the lowered ramp, looking at them. He waved them in, grinning. 

“There was an urgent shuttle service requested here?” Nonetheless, his tone betrayed his seriousness underneath all that lighthearted exterior.

Steve hurried over the yard and into the jet. Tony shot a quick glance at Jefferson, raised an eyebrow then studied Bucky for a moment.

“Wow, he looks peachy. What happened? And who is that guy? Or _that_ guy?“

He knelt down and laid Bucky gently on the floor. Jefferson was already at his side, placing his head in his lap again. As he stood up and turned he knew immediately that the time for stalling was over.

Tony’s eyes were intense and dark and completely fixed on Bucky. Or his metal arm to be precise. Every muscle in his body looked tense. Steve wouldn’t have been surprised if he would’ve heard a grinding noise from his tightly clenched teeth.

There was no room for doubt: Tony knew about the Winter Soldier and what he’d done.

Tony Stark was a very curious man, one who liked to know all there is to know and preferably more than others. Of course he’d read through the published S.H.I.E.L.D. data. Most likely it wasn’t even news to him. After all, he had hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D. long before that. He wondered if Tony had known even back then that his parents had been killed by Hydra. By the Winter Soldier. Or had he connected those pieces only now that Bucky had appeared again a few weeks ago?

“Is he dead?”

Steve had never heard Tony sound so cold. Angry, sarcastic, even hurt, yes. But never like this.

He saw Jefferson’s head snap up at that and lean forward a bit over his brother’s body protectively.

“No,” Steve answered calmly, “but he’s in really bad shape. He needs medical aid. The sooner the better.”

Tony spun around, away from Bucky and facing him. His face was the epitome of confused disbelieve. Well, maybe add angry disgust as well. When he finally found words – which didn’t take long, he was a Stark after all – he pointed sharply at Bucky as he spoke.

“He’s Hydra! He played a vital role in the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. For fuck’s sake, he almost _killed_ you! Have you forgotten that?”

“No, I haven’t.” He avoided Jefferson’s shocked gaze on purpose, knowing that he might have downplayed his own injuries in his tale at the B&B.

Tony laughed. A bewildered and sarcastic laugh that sounded more like a snort. “Then give me _one_ good reason why I shouldn’t just let him die?”

Steve blinked, suppressed a sigh. He knew that uncompromising, hot-headed side of Tony. He didn’t like it but he knew it. Jefferson didn’t. So he hurried up to answer before the other man could do or say something that certainly wouldn’t help the situation.

“Because he’s my friend. Tony, this man is Bucky Barnes.”

The genius screwed up his face, highly skeptical, before he laughed again. “Yeah, sure. And I’m Jesus. Barnes is dead! Has been since 1945.”

“No, he isn’t. Hydra got a hold of him, made him into… Tony, please! He needs a doctor. I can’t take him anywhere else and I certainly can’t watch him die. Not again! I need your help. _Please_!”

He watched his friend closely, ready to strike, grab Bucky and make a run for it if necessary.

Tony just stood there and stared at him. Well, _glared_ at him was more like it. His hands on his hips, the muscles of his fingers working as if he wanted to ball them into fists. And at the same time he shook his head in disbelief.

Without warning Tony suddenly took a step to the side and crashed his hand against a panel in the wall. The ramp started closing with a soft, barely audible hiss. He turned around and placed himself well within Steve’s personal space, his dark eyes still alight with an intense fire. He had his hand raised, index finger out and poked right into Steve’s chest, never breaking eye contact.

“Just to make this clear. I’m doing this for _you_ ,” he poked again then pointed loosely over his shoulder and his voice was practically dripping with disdain, “not for him.”

He abruptly turned around, clearly ready to leave the topic and headed for the controls of the jet, when his eyes landed on Jefferson, who had one arm protectively over Bucky’s chest and a fierce and determined expression on his face.

Tony shook his head in confusion and faced Steve again. “And who the hell is _that_ guy? Why does he look like _him_?”

“Well, um, that’s kind of hard to explain…”

Tony just huffed, exasperated, and threw his hands theatrically in the air as he stomped towards the cockpit.

“You know what? I don’t want to know! I don’t want to know _anything_ about this!”

 

TBC


	3. Part One: Shock - Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe involving Tony wasn't such a great idea.  
> At least Bucky was waking up...

**Part One: Shock**

Awakening

 

This was wrong. So terribly wrong.

Bucky had always been the tougher one of them, the healthy and strong guy that nothing could knock off his feet. He wasn’t supposed to lie in a hospital bed like this, completely still and limp and _weak_. Surrounded by beeping monitors, quietly dripping infusions and that clean, white sterility that always gave him a chill.

It felt just wrong.

Tony had kept quiet almost throughout the whole flight, only talking to Jarvis in hushed tones to adjust the security level in the tower and to reduce the staff in medical to a minimum. Just the ones with the highest security clearance were left now.

And he’d let him talk with the physician in charge, Dr. Garner, to inform her of Bucky’s condition.

As soon as they’d arrived Bucky had been whisked away by the stern looking doctor, two nurses and two security guards, leaving him behind with a very edgy Jefferson. Tony’d left the moment he’d set foot on the building.

Now, almost two hours later, Bucky was lying beneath white sheets – only his metal arm and his right hand weren’t covered – in a sterile looking room. They’d also cleaned him up, even washed his hair.

And finally, he was back with him and Jefferson now.

_“He’s lucky. His enhanced body functions must have prevented further damage, it’s pretty amazing. His condition is promising and I guess he’ll recover faster than expected. But don’t get me wrong, Mr. Rogers, even someone like him can’t just bounce back from this.”_

He’d be weak for a few days and the doctor had voiced her concern about psychological aftereffects after an enforced captivity like this. Steve had huffed at that, thinking about the decades of captivity Bucky had endured.

But now he was here, on the mend and with family.

Safe.

His eyes travelled down from his friend’s face to his hands. His right wrist was enclosed by a metallic looking clasp that was firmly attached to the bed frame. His left arm was draped over some strange looking panel where two shimmering, softly whirring bands of energy wrapped around his wrist and just below his elbow, keeping his metal arm completely immobile.

Jefferson sat at his side, holding Bucky’s limp fingers in his and stroking the back of his hand. Steve could see the way the dry skin wrinkled under his thumb like that of an old man.

It was strange and amazing at once to actually see them next to each other. He hadn’t given it any thought in the factory, not with Bucky’s life on the line. But now? There was no doubt left about them being twins. They looked so much alike.

And yet they were so very different.

“I don’t like this,” the dark-haired stated emphatically without taking his eyes of his brother.

“I know,” Steve mumbled, knowing exactly what the other man was talking about. “Me neither…”

It seemed rather cruel actually to restrain him like this especially since he’d just spent five days locked in a vice. But the logical part of him argued that maybe it was necessary, at least at first. That didn’t keep him from hating it, though. It was wrong and yet the safe way for everyone and he just didn’t know what to think anymore.

He stepped up next to Jefferson and placed his hand on the blanket, right where Bucky’s knee was. Feeling that solid body right beneath the fabric eased this mind a bit, reminded him that this was real.

Bucky was back. Alive. And had remembered him; had called him “Steve”.

He should be overwhelmed with joy, shouldn’t he?

But when he looked at that worn face, exhausted even in his sleep, he realized that he’d never thought further than this, never planned ahead.

_What do we do now?_

Suddenly the door slid open. On instinct he tensed and turned, only to be confronted with a grim looking Tony who strode in with his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. He stopped right at the foot of the bed, staring down, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Jefferson looked up as well, his jaw set in a mix of contempt and anger. “Is that really necessary?” His tone was sharp as he pointed at the hand cuffs.

“My tower, my rules. And my employees. I’m not willing to risk their lives like that!” Tony shot back, yet his cold gaze stayed fixed on Bucky.

“He’s not a monster!”

Tony huffed and turned the full force of that glare at Jefferson – who answered just in kind. “Tell that to those he has killed in cold blood!”

Steve had never seen Tony like this. Usually his emotions were quite easy to read but this cold and calculating focus made it impossible – and that, on the other hand, made Steve really uneasy.

He was immediately on high alert as Tony stepped around the bed and closer to Bucky. The genius scrutinized the unconscious man with a deprecating look before his focus turned towards the metal arm. Without a moment’s hesitation he touched it, let his fingertips slide over the plates of the hand.

Steve couldn’t help but see that action as an intrusion. As a violation of his defenseless friend. Yet he kept still, ignoring that nagging bad feeling in his stomach and observed as Tony started moving the metal fingers and nudging the wrist. It was obvious that he tested the mobility of the joints. Then he inspected the dented plates, pressed against them, tried to nudge his nails into the sharp outlines at the edges of the squeezed areas, the frown on his brow deepening by the minute.

A strange tension filled the room, an unspoken air of hostility and mistrust. In its own way it was even worse than during their argument back on the helicarrier after they’d learned that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been using the tesseract to build weapons.

Steve couldn’t take it a moment longer. Tony was his friend after all.

“Are you going to repair it?”

The engineer laughed. It sounded dark and ugly. “No, certainly not. I want to see how it works!”

“He’s not your lab rat!” Jefferson spat, making no secret of his contempt – maybe even hate.

The billionaire merely smirked back. “He’s a weapon. And I’m good at taking them apart!”

Jefferson was up and grabbing across the bed for Tony faster than Steve had thought possible. Quickly he leaned forward and closed his hand around Jefferson’s forearm before he could reach the other man and do something stupid – or something he’d regret later. He shot him a warning look, leaving no place for misinterpretation, before he let him go and turned towards Tony.

“Can we talk? Outside?” His voice was harsher than intended, but even though he’d expected this to be tricky and difficult he still had every right to be angry after that.

Tony raised an eyebrow, challenging, then left the room. Steve followed close behind.

“Listen Tony,” he began after the door was closed, trying hard for a calm tone, “Bucky’s been through…”

He didn’t come further. The other man interrupted him almost immediately, that fierce and intense glare back in his eyes. Only this time Steve could see behind it. Just a glimpse. Could see hurt and fury and betrayal before that cold fire consumed it all again.

“No Rogers, it’s time you listen to me! Right now, your star-spangled ass is the only thing that stands between him and an army squad. This _thing_ in there, that’s not your Bucky. Not anymore. He’s a murderer. That bastard killed my parents, Steve! He’s just another Hydra weapon, only this one has a familiar face. Get rid of your blinders, man! Your friend is gone. It’s time for you to accept that!

“But you’re my friend. And that’s the only reason I’m not calling in the military right now. But don’t get me wrong! He’ll never leave this tower except for a trip to a high-security prison cell. He’s dangerous and I know you’ll come to understand that soon enough. I can’t let him loose. Jarvis will watch him nonstop and at the slightest sign that he’s planning something or that he acts violent, Jarvis is ordered to knock him out. And then I _will_ make that call.”

Steve took a deep and measured breath, trying to wrap his head around it all. “So instead of sending him to a military prison you’re taking the part of jailor on yourself.”

“Don’t push it, Rogers!”

And with that last snarl he stormed past Steve and vanished around a corner, leaving him stunned. And not just by what had been said.

Tony had just called him “Steve” for the first time and in the worst context ever.

 

 

 

Awareness came slowly.

He knew that feeling of gradually returning awareness that accompanied the wakening from an episode in cryo-sleep. It took a while for body and mind to get back to reality.

_Something is wrong…_

His head was aching and his muscles felt like lead, heavy and uncooperative. The grogginess wasn’t lifting and there was this noise. This constant beeping. Distant, but insistent.

_Something is very, very wrong!_

It wasn’t cold. At all.

And he felt fabric against his skin. Warm and soft. Not harsh and cold.

_Think Bucky. Think! There has to be…_

His mind stumbled, leaving it blank for a moment.

_Bucky._

He remembered. This couldn’t be cryo-sleep. He’d never remembered anything about himself when he woke up. At least he thought so. But he did now. He knew his name. Knew that he’d run from Hydra.

_Oh my head!_

He wanted to lift a hand to check his head for wounds. To rub his temples. Or just to bury his head in his palm. Whatever.

His hands met resistance. Something was holding them down.

His breath hitched. And out of nowhere images flooded his mind.

Pulling at his arm, twisting it, kicking the machine, but being unable to break free.

His muscles screaming with pain at the abuse of remaining in one position for too long.

Rumlow looking down at him, laughing.

 _Rumlow!_ _Is he here? Did he come back?_

The strange beeping became faster, making him nervous. It would certainly lead someone here, betray his position. He needed that sound to stop before Rumlow came back for him. He was in no condition to face him. Or Hydra.

_I need to get out of here. Somewhere safe._

With everything he got he forced his eyes open, if even just a slit. Why was that simple act so difficult? So exhausting? Did they drug him? It had to be. He’d never felt this weak and befuddled before. At least not that he could remember.

He couldn’t see much, his vision wouldn’t clear, but he saw one thing: the blinking of light against polished metal.

Breathing became difficult all of a sudden, and the strange beeping was everywhere, hectically announcing his position.

_It doesn’t matter! You’re already back._

He had to be. Tied to a bed, surrounded by metal and strange instruments and drugged. He was back with Hydra.

_No. No! NO!_

Someone was talking, but he couldn’t understand it. And then hands were on him, touching his arms, his shoulders. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t breathe. And his head hurt. It hurt like hell.

Suddenly the hands were on his face. He stiffened instantly, holding his breath, even though he was yearning for air.

_Your resistance is pointless. It will only prolong the inevitable._

Pain would follow. It always followed.

A punishment. A promise. A necessity.

Obedience was required.

His thoughts grew fuzzy, even more than before, only the paralyzing fear of the looming pain stayed with him.

Something touched his brow. Something warm and hard, yet the touch itself was soft.

A strange tranquility filled him, spreading from his forehead outwards throughout his body. Sweet air was filling his lungs again. All on its own. And with a shuddering sigh his muscles eased and he sank deeper against the soft surface he was lying on.

_Soft?_

And he got the strangest of sensations. As if he were sitting in a tree, his legs dangling freely. With someone beside him who was holding him loosely and who dipped his head against his own.

The beeping slowed and darkness settled over his mind.

 

 

 

Daylight slowly fought its way through the glass wall. Grey clouds were hanging low in the sky, gloomy and with the promise of rain. There’d been a time when he’d liked rain, had danced barefoot on the sodden fields and whirled Priscilla around, laughing at the beauty of a warm summer rain. Or watching the heavy rain crash against the windows in late autumn, his arms with the blanket closed around her, enfolding her in a cocoon of warmth.

But nowadays all it held were uncomfortable wetness and memories of a time long past.

Fitting weather for sitting vigil.

Bucky had slept the whole night. Apart from that one time he’d partly woken up, disoriented and panicked.

He hadn’t left his brother once in all that time – not counting the short trip to the adjoining bathroom. Hadn’t even slept. He was far too shaken for sleep.

Finding Bucky, almost losing him to dehydration, having to meet and suffer that awful man Steve called a friend, being transported to a giant building in a strange city… it had all happened so fast.

His gaze wandered over his brother’s face again, checking for the umpteenth time for any sign of awakening, before it travelled to his hands and that infernal handcuffs. His lips pressed into a thin line. He hated those things. Hated the arrogant bastard who’d put them on his twin.

Yawning he sat up straight and rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension a bit. He only managed to make himself grimace in discomfort, though. With a quiet sigh he looked at his watch. It was time. If he wanted to do it, he had to do it now.

Jefferson rose quietly to not wake Steve who’d dozed off shortly before dawn. He barely managed two steps before the soldier softly jerked awake, blinked a bit dazed and narrowed his eyes in a questioning manner.

“I didn’t want to wake you. I just need to call Grace and she should be up by now.”

Steve nodded, rubbing his hand over his tired eyes.

“It’s alright. I didn’t want to fall asleep anyway. Any changes?”

“No.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. The battery should hold on a little while longer. He stretched his sore muscles a bit while he walked over to the glass. In all his travels he’d never been to a city like this one. The sheer size of it was hard to comprehend. And it was noisy and crowded and hectic. And so alive.

His eyes followed a red car through the streets while he dialed and waited.

“Papa?” He had to close his eyes against the onslaught of longing at hearing her sweet voice. Her surprise. “I tried to call you yesterday, but… did you get my text?”

He couldn’t help the smile that stretched his lips. “Yeah, I did. You’re really okay?”

A strange noise followed that question. Something between a chuckle and a sigh. “I’m fine. Really! I wasn’t even near that giant ice monster.”

“Ice monster?” he burst out, his voice unusually high and his heart suddenly skipping a beat. There’d never been talk of an ice monster before.

“Oops. Sorry, did I forget to mention that in my text?”

_Oops. Oops she says._

_You’ve got some nerves, girl!_

“Yes, you certainly did,” he managed in a more controlled manner again. “What. Happened?”

“I only know what Henry told me at school.” At least she sounded a bit sheepish. “Some ice monster turned up out of the blue and attacked. The Mayor destroyed it. And now there’s an ice wall. I wanted to ask Henry later if he knows something about it. But whatever it is, I’m sure his mothers are already working on it.”

“If anyone finds a way to get rid of it again it’s one of them. And I’m certain they’ll bring it down before I come back home.”

There were voices in the background, then he heard Grace’s distant voice explaining, “It’s Papa.”

Next thing she’s back again, loud and clear. “I need to go. I’ll miss the bus.”

He wanted to tell her. Wanted to share his joy at finding his brother after all these years.

But he couldn’t. Not with Bucky like this. Not as long as he knew nothing.

What should he tell her? How should he explain?

He didn’t want to keep it from her, but right now all he had to offer was uncertainty.

_Next time._

_Wait until he’s better and she’s not in a hurry. Then tell her that you found her uncle._

“Alright, I love you, honey. Take care! And keep away from that wall!”

This time she really sighed and he could practically see her roll her eyes in that same fashion Priscilla always had. “Yeah, see you, Papa.”

 

 

 

Next time he came to his mind felt mostly clear and his head hurt less. And he was thirsty.

He opened his eyes, still a bit sluggish but it didn’t take much effort.

White. And chrome.

He had to blink a few times to patch everything together. It was a barely furnished room, modern looking, all efficiency and not exactly comfortable. There was a window to his left. Well, not strictly speaking. The whole wall on his left side was made out of glass, allowing him the view of water cascades along the material and a grey sky behind that.

This wasn’t Hydra, was it? It didn’t fit.

Yet the cuffs weren’t a dream. If the feeling against his wrist wasn’t enough a look down confirmed it. He was in a hospital bed, attached to a drip and something was clamped on one of his fingers. And he was tightly attached to the bed frame.

That’s when he became aware of the person sitting next to him on a chair, obviously sleeping.

_Caucasian. Male. No visible weapons._

_Status: asleep._

_Current risk level: none._

He blinked. He knew that face from his reflection.

_Bucky? Stay with me, brother!_

_It’s gonna be alright, Bucky. We’re here now._

And from his hallucination. How could he possibly be sitting right there? Was it real? Actually real? But it couldn’t be…

Was he still hallucinating, then? It didn’t feel like a hallucination.

Images started dancing through his head, nagging at him, attacking him with more and more violence. As if seeing that man there had opened a floodgate in his mind.

A forest and a world of magic and wonder.

Falling through a whirling portal.

A brother who’s grinning.

A father with strange presents in his hands.

A mother with that gentle, loving smile.

Open fire and stories and arguments.

And a giant, feral dog.

He shook his head against the onslaught, against the craziness of it all. How could he possibly remember such things?

Magic? Portals? That’s absurd!

His head started hurting again. This made no sense. The few things he remembered… everything he’d seen in this world outside that window… it didn’t fit those images in his mind.

_It doesn’t have to fit. It’s two different worlds._

What? How did he know that? How was that possible?

_You came through a portal. You fell through it by accident._

It couldn’t be. It had to be Hydra, messing with his head again. But that made no sense either. They took memories away to fill the empty space with their ideals, their purpose. He knew that now. Had learned it from piecing together those few flashes of memory that haunted him in his dreams. From fitting it together with the information he’d gotten at the museum. They’d stolen his life. He didn’t need to remember it to feel the loss, the emptiness. The rage. That’s why he’d taken out their bases. Just three of the smaller ones, but it gave him something to do. It gave him the satisfaction of revenge and the hope of finding answers.

Hydra only took away from him. They’d gain nothing by filling his mind with impossible childhood memories.

They’re feeling so real. So terribly, confusingly real.

He pressed his eyes closed and shook his head, trying to dispel the disorienting images. They wouldn’t go away, though. Quite the opposite. His subconscious seemed to latch onto them and wrap itself around them like a lifeline.

_It can’t be real. It’s a trick._

Then why did it feel as if something inside of him had shifted and clicked into place? Just as if it belonged there?

Why was his subconscious always having a ready answer whenever his logic mind stumbled upon something that made no sense? Answers that rang strangely true within him.

He took a deliberate and deep breath, trying to calm himself, to shake that ever growing confusion and to ignore that feeling of rightness – of warmth. He needed to focus on his current situation. Needed to find out where he was and why and what they wanted from him. And yet, some things wouldn’t leave him alone.

_Another boy at his side. Running together through the woods. Laughing together. Playing together. Huddling together. Always together._

He couldn’t shake those images. Couldn’t shake the ache in his chest that they caused.

And just like before a deeply buried part of his mind supplied him with the knowledge behind those scenes.

_A brother. My brother._

_I had a brother once._

He fought for even breaths, to not give anything away. To not draw attention.

It had to be real. That pain in his heart, that _loss_ that he was feeling right now. It had to be real. Right? He’d had a brother once. A twin.

But it couldn’t be that man in the chair. Not after all these years. His brother – Jeff – was dead. Had to be.

He tried to push those thoughts away, those memories, tried to concentrate on the situation and think. But they wouldn’t let him. Made him dizzy and nauseous.

_Why can I remember a childhood all of a sudden? No matter how strange it might be. Why can I remember it all so clearly – the barking dog, the color of mother’s dress, the sound of Jeff’s laugh – when everything else eludes me?_

He couldn’t tell. The only thing he knew was that those scenes in his mind, those memories, they weren’t like the other flashes. They fit together, all of it. The knowledge, the memories, the feelings. It was all there, forming a picture. A whole one.

It was too consistent. Too _right_.

_But why?_

His intuition told him to believe. The same intuition that had led him away from Hydra. That had made him jump into the river to safe the man he’d set out to kill.

His head was pounding even harder now.

 _I need to get out. Away from here. I need to_ think _!_

He pulled at his cuffs, intent on ripping them from the frame. But nothing happened. His muscles protested every movement. He was too weak to break his right arm free. Not even the metal one would budge. Whatever that shimmering high-tech contraption was that span his forearm, it held him relentlessly.

“Bucky!”

His head jerked towards the sound. The man from the chair was up, most likely woken by the rattling of cuff against bed frame, coming closer until he finally leaned over him. And grabbed his forearm.

_His arms fixated._

_Shadows looming over him._

_Pain._

He froze instinctively. The beeping in the room became faster. And he realized that it was his heartbeat. They were monitoring his heartbeat and that machine gave him away.

His fear.

_Traitor!_

The shadow vanished and he blinked again, pushing the fear away before it could grab a hold of him. It wouldn’t help him anyway. He looked up and instead of looming shadows he saw the man who looked like him, but with short hair, standing two feet away from the bed with his hands raised.

Only he seemed- startled somehow?

“Bucky, it’s me. Jefferson. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you, I just… I won’t hurt you!”

He shook his head. This couldn’t be.

_What is this place? Why am I here? What do they want with me?_

He didn’t know anymore what was true and what wasn’t. However, those memories were like a beacon in the vastness and the chaos of his mind, like a warm light. The only thing that made sense. And the longer he looked at it, the surer he got that they were real. Really his. But that meant that this man couldn’t be who he claimed to be.

His throat was parched and raw and it hurt to speak.

“You’re not real.“

_You’re not him. You can’t be._

The man lowered his hands a bit as if placating a frightened child or animal.

“Calm down, alright? It’s okay, Bucky. I’m real. It’s really me. Your brother, remember?“

He could only stare at this impossible impostor while his mind started reeling.

_How dare you pose as him? What game is this?_

_My brother. My Jeff._

_Are you really him? But how?_

_And why did you never come for me? Why? Why now?_

He took a breath, trying to mask how shaky it was. Whatever this was, whoever held him prisoner, he wasn’t going to play by their rules.

“I don’t have a brother!”

Bucky hadn’t expected that reaction. The impostor looked outright distraught and stumbled a few steps back as if struck by a blow. Why was there so much pain in his eyes?

Out of the blue a door swished open opposite the “window“ and another person entered the room. Immediately alert his gaze turned that way.

_Caucasian. Male. No visible weapons._

_Status: athletic…_

“Steve!”

It didn’t come out as the observation it should be, instead it sounded more like a surprised sigh. A second later the realization struck him.

Steve was here. He was real!

All this chaos in his mind, this confusion over new memories, over his childhood, his brother, they had kept him from realizing it. Only now that he laid eyes on the blond man in front of him did his mind finally make the connection.

It hadn’t been a hallucination.

The rescue. Steve. The impostor who’d claimed to be his brother. It had really happened. All of it.

Steve had really come for him. Like he had done before. The sign in the museum had said he’d rescued him before. In WWII.

And now he was here. Captain America. Steve Rogers.

The man he’d almost killed.

The man who insisted that they were friends.

The man who had obviously once been a big part of his life. A life he remembered almost nothing about.

_I’m not ready! I’m not ready for this!_

He couldn’t face him, couldn’t face that situation. Not now. _Certainly_ not now!

There’s a reason he’d avoided him so far. A reason he’d run away.

He could barely get a grip on the person he was right now. He couldn’t face a man who looked at him like that, like he was everything to him, when he couldn’t remember. When he couldn’t piece those tiny flashes together.

_It’s too much!_

He felt pressed into a corner, the soft pillow and mattress at his back no comfort at all. Suddenly he was very much aware of the cuffs that held him down and even more aware of how tired and weak he felt.

He wanted to disappear, to be someplace else. He wanted for his mind to be quiet.

He wanted that feeling of security again that had filled him at his rescue as Steve had been close.

He wanted his memories back. He wanted his _life_ back!

 _You don’t have to_ want _! You get orders, you obey them. There’s no room for “wanting”!_

In two long strides Steve was right next to him all of a sudden, a look of surprised joy on his face.

“Bucky! You’re awake.”

His breaths came faster and that damn beeping betrayed him again.

“Where am I?”

Maybe, if he kept to the simple things, he could play for time to get away and sort out his mind in peace. Or not at all.

Instead of an answer he received a glass of water with a straw in it. Steve pushed a button and the head end of his bed move upwards so that he sat more upright and got a better view of his surroundings and the blond held the glass right under his nose.

The water was cold and felt like bliss on his dry throat. He drank greedily. It was only when it was empty and he leaned back, barely suppressing a relieved sigh, that he realized his error.

He hadn’t even hesitated. Hadn’t checked the water before he drank from it. He had trusted Steve blindly not to put poison or drugs or whatever into his drink. How could he trust anyone like that? Especially someone he didn’t know. Didn’t remember.

_I won’t hurt you._

“You’re in Stark Tower. Or Avenger’s Tower, whatever you wanna call it. You’re safe here from Hydra.”

A tired yawn almost slipped past his self-control. He’d never heard of such a tower.

He looked pointedly down at his hands.

“Doesn’t feel very different.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Buck.” He actually _did_ sound sorry.

It became harder to follow his words and his eyes were so damn heavy. Exhaustion pressed down on him. Again? He’d just woken up. Or had he been drugged?

The water!

_But Steve wouldn’t. Would he?_

Something inside him was sure that he’d never do something like that. Not to him. But he didn’t know why. Couldn’t put a finger on any sensible reason to belief so.

“Get some rest. You more than earned it. And I’ll talk to Tony about…”

He wasn’t listening anymore.

 

TBC


	4. Part One: Shock - Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve needs to have a word with Tony.  
> And Tony... Tony needs to have a talk of his own.

**Part One: Shock**

Confrontations

 

“So?”

“The correlation of the facial recognition patterns is 99,48%, Sir. Just as the last two times you asked.”

“DAMMIT!”

With a sudden jerk of his arm Tony swept half the stuff on the bench off. There was a crash as something broke and the loud clatter of something metallic against the floor. He didn’t care.

Instead he jumped up, inhaling deeply. He kicked against nothing in particular then swished his hand in a turning motion in the general direction of the holographic video-feed from the infirmary. The volume shut off immediately. He huffed out a breath and raked his hands through his hair only to ball them to fists against the back of his head.

Tony Stark was seething.

Still.

Even after almost 19 hours.

Sleeping had been out of the question.

Working on his suits hadn’t helped one bit.

And research had been the worst idea since.

His eyes fell back on the screen. Drawn to that face on the bed.

He was furious with that monster for killing his parents.

Oh yes, he’d figured that out. It hadn’t been that hard to put all the puzzle pieces together, especially after Washington D.C.. And with all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s data at his proposal.

And he wanted that bastard to pay for what he did.

But even more than that he was furious with Steve for putting him in this damn position.

_I thought you were my friend!_

But it didn’t feel that way. Not with Steve so unquestionably on that murderer’s side.

“You had to be Barnes, hadn’t you? Of all the people!” he spat.

That monster needed to be locked away for good. Needed to be analyzed to know what Hydra had done to him, to know what Hydra was capable of in regards to medical and technological and psychological procedures. To be prepared for their next strike.

But Steve would never forgive him if he did that. Not right now. Not as long as he held on to the belief that there’s something left of Barnes in there, even after 70 years of Hydra control. As if!

No, Steve would _never_ forgive him.

He leaned forward, his hands pressed against the now empty surface of the workbench. His head sank low between his shoulders, weary after everything.

Tony sighed.

But most of all he was furious with himself. For relenting so easily. For giving in to his need for friendship above doing what was right. The friendship of a man who clearly held a monster in higher regard then him.

“May I suggest a few hours of sleep, Sir? You’ve been awake for almost 33 hours now.”

“Tsk!” He pushed himself up. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jarvis. There’s still work to do!” He tried for the levity of a joke, but it sounded off.

_So, back to business it is._

“What about the arm?”

“You’ve seen the surface scan already, Sir. For further information there’s still a deeper scan needed that can only be done here in the workshop,” the A.I. said in a know-it-all matter.

His hand shot up, index finger raised and he growled, “Ah, not in that tone, Jarvis. I’m absolutely _not_ in the mood.”

Tony shook his head, frustrated with the whole situation. His eyes skimmed over all the holographic screens that filled his workshop. Everything he – or Jarvis for that matter – could find on the events from D.C., the life of James Barnes and every piece of S.H.I.E.L.D. data or news reports on his parents’ so called “accident”. All of it, hanging in mid air like a bunch of loose strings waiting for him to assemble them to a fitting conclusion.

He couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. With a tired shrug he pushed them away. All except one. The video-feed stayed. And he watched again, his head tilted curiously to the side.

“Turn the volume on again.”

For a while he observed. Witnessed the awakening of a ghost story – one that Steve had chosen over him without even hesitating – and listened.

“You’ve got to hand it to them. Hydra certainly knows how to train themselves a pet. If I didn’t know any better I’d almost believe that little act myself.”

_Don’t let him fool you, Rogers! He’s like a Trojan horse._

_Oh crap, now I’m fooling myself!_

_Of course that idiot will fall for it. He’s practically begging to be tricked like that._

_It’s up to me then, I guess._

_Isn’t it always?_

“Sir, the last report just came it. The Rura Penthe Protocol is operational now.”

“Good,” he mused, “I’ll feel better if that _thing_ is properly contained.”

At least Pepper wasn’t here. And he’d made sure that it stayed that way. Under no circumstances did he want her anywhere near the Winter Soldier.

_And why winter?_

_What sort of a codename is that, anyway? What’s next? The Summer Spy?_

Movement turned his eyes on the other unknown variable in the infirmary. A rather intriguing puzzle to be honest. One that gave him something to focus on that wasn’t completely tinted with pain and betrayal.

“What about Barnes 2.0? He called him ‘brother’, which is totally impossible of course with our Terminator over there being even older than Captain Ice Age.”

Back in the jet he’d paid no further notice to the other man, too shocked and angry to inquire. But watching him now – Steve had called him Jefferson if he wasn’t mistaken – looking just like a strangely clothed and less rough version of the guy in the bed, worrying at least as much as Steve himself over the last hours, it made him wonder…

“There’s no information about any brothers regarding Mr. Barnes. Only a sister is mentioned. Facial recognition patterns show a very strong resemblance, though, that is usually due to genetic factors.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Huh, a distant relative then? Search for anything you can find about the Barnes’ family and show it to me. But before you start, I think it’s time to relay a little message. You know what to do.”

“May I advise you to talk to Capt. Rogers in person, Sir?”

Tony rolled his eyes before he sank down on a stool, his elbow on the table and rubbed his eyes. His voice sounded strained as he spoke, his anger still merely bubbling beneath the surface of his exhaustion. “Not today, Jarvis. Not. Today.”

He fixed his eyes to the screen again as soon as he heard the voice of the A.I. speak in the infirmary. A gleeful smile played across his lips as he watched a seemingly sleeping assassin startle up and jerk against his bonds. The man’s eyes were wide for a moment before they searched the room for the speaker. Even though Steve placed his hand on his arm to reassure him the mistrust never left his face nor the tension his body.

_Serves you right!_

The small jump of surprise – and shock, clearly – of Jefferson was even funnier to observe. For a moment it had almost seemed as if he would panic.

“Curious,” Tony mumbled to himself and filed the information away for later.

“Capt. Rogers, Sgt. Barnes, Mr. Jefferson, I apologize for the rude interruption. My name is Jarvis. I’m instructed by Mr. Stark to inform you about the further proceedings. An apartment within the tower has been prepared for you where you will be staying as soon as Dr. Garner is releasing Sgt. Barnes from her care. Be aware that a security system will be in place at all times, making sure that no one leaves the apartment apart from Capt. Rogers himself. In case of an unauthorized attempt at leaving or in case of violent behavior, appropriate countermeasures will be executed.”

It didn’t take long until Steve clenched his teeth and balled his fists.

He’d expected that.

The soldier looked up – the involuntary motion of everyone who’s addressing a bodiless voice or someone who’s watching from afar.

“You can’t do this, Tony!” Righteous anger practically oozed from the all-American idol. “Jefferson has done nothing wrong. You can’t just keep him here. Stark? I know you can hear me!“

Tony’s face turned hard again at this display, instinctively distancing himself.

“You leave me no choice, Rogers,” he said quietly into the empty workshop.

That’s when he saw this Jefferson guy cross the room. He laid his hand on Steve’s shoulder in a placating way as he locked his intense gaze with the other man.

“I don’t care. At least for now. This is where I belong, Steve. With my brother. I won’t leave him, no matter what.”

_Again with the ‘brother’-talk. But it can’t be._

With some quick motions he zoomed into the video-feed and enlarged the section with Jefferson’s face. A deep frown creased his brow as he scrutinized the mystery man with the old-fashioned cravat.

“Who the hell are you, Jefferson?”

 

 

 

“Jarvis, take me to Tony. Wherever that is at the moment,” Steve said as he stepped into the elevator.

The A.I. answered promptly and in its usual polite fashion. “Mr. Stark is currently in his apartment, Capt. Rogers. You’ll find him in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.“

He’d wanted to talk to the billionaire ever since that stunt of his at midday. But there had never been the right time.

Bucky had been agitated after that message from Jarvis. Well, he hadn’t said so, hadn’t said much of anything to be precise, but he hadn’t slept since although he was clearly exhausted. Instead he’d periodically gazed up at the ceiling in uncertainty or at Jefferson in mistrust.

And then Dr. Garner had arrived to check up on her patient.

In private. She had insisted on that part.

Steve had doubted that she’d get him to talk but it couldn’t prove that much harder than getting Jefferson out of the room in the first place. It had taken quite a lot of persuasion to achieve. In the end he’d managed and outside they’d found two armed security guards and, a few feet down the corridor, a plate with sandwiches and coffee and a bottle of water on the table of a modern looking seating area.

_“Please help yourselves in case you’re hungry.”_

_Steve saw Jefferson startle again at Jarvis’s well meant words. He knew the feeling. It had taken him some time to get used to it as well. The other man’s hand was at his neck again as it always was when he felt uncomfortable and his eyes roamed the hallway. They paused on the guards for a moment, unease clearly visible in his gaze, then turned back to him._

_“Is- is that the butler you talked to on the phone?” Jefferson whispered, leaning closer._

_“Um, yes. Yes, that’s Jarvis.”_

_“Where is he? And why must he always speak to us like that?”_

_“Well, um, he- he isn’t a real person exactly. He’s- everywhere, um. He’s a computer program that- kind of, runs the house?” He blew up his cheeks and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m really the wrong person to explain this, but- yeah, just imagine him as, um, a butler of sorts.”_

_Jefferson’s eyes narrowed skeptically and his frown deepened. At least it was a change to his crestfallen expression and his careful detachment after Bucky’s dismissing, even disregarding behavior towards him._

_“So, you’re telling me, an omnipresent computer program that answers to Stark alone controls this building. The ultimate prison guard. And I should imagine it as a butler? And call him Jarvis? Are you kidding me?”_

_Steve had no idea what to say. He’d never viewed it that way but Jefferson’s disbelief and skepticism weren’t unfounded. Thankfully he didn’t have to say anything, the A.I. did that himself._

_“I assure you, Mr. Jefferson, that Capt. Roger’s description, although very simplified, is accurate. It is also my responsibility to make your stay here as comfortable as possible. In that regard, should you require the means to freshen up, Sir, the shower room of the personnel is just down the hall. You’d find a set of fresh clothes there as well.”_

_Jarvis certainly had a point there. He’d already used that opportunity in the morning right before Bucky’d woken up but Jefferson still wore the same dark red paisley shirt as the day before._

_The man in question looked down at himself, sniffed in the direction of his armpit and raked his fingers through his slightly greasy looking hair, the beginnings of disgust showing on his face. He sighed and shook his head._

_“What the hell.”_

_He took a sandwich and pointed at the door behind him. “I trust you to look out for him. I won’t be long.“ Then he took a bite, chewed, swallowed and looked up. “Alright Jarvis. Could you please show me the way?“_

_“Very well Sir.“_

_And Jefferson laughed aloud as he followed Jarvis‘s instructions. A laugh that made one uncomfortable._

_Steve could still hear him when he mumbled to himself._

_“I’m talking to a house. Welcome to a whole new level of crazy.”_

That had been a few hours ago.

Now it was dark again and Bucky had finally succumbed to sleep. And Steve’d had the chance to talk with Dr. Garner. She hadn’t been able to help much – thanks to Tony – but at least she had arranged for the removal of the handcuff on his right arm so he’d been able to feed himself.

He hadn’t talked much, though, only if Steve had asked him something. But he’d always reacted to him compared to Jefferson whom he ignored or glowered at.

Steve had tried to not overwhelm him, to not add to the confusion that was so obvious for him to read. Nonetheless the turmoil that lay just below the surface of his collected exterior shone through his eyes. Not exactly, but almost that haunted – and haunting – look that he’d faced on the helicarrier, right at the end.

Without a sound the doors of the elevator opened to the wide space and luxurious interior of Tony’s private apartment. He had no eyes for the displayed riches or architecture, though. Instead he followed Jarvis’ guiding instructions and stepped into the giant kitchen, getting right down to business, “We need to talk.”

Tony turned and raised his cup of coffee as greeting. “I wondered when you’d show up here.” He stepped up to the fridge and peered inside while his free hand drummed a rhythm against the fridge door. “I had a bet running with Jarvis. Well, I would have if I’d been able to pull him over to the dark side, but obviously betting is against his nature. Maybe I should do something about that…”

Steve had enough of this. Dealing with a rambling Tony could be nerve-racking at a good day, only today was far from that.

“Why are you doing this?”

The genius grabbed something and closed the fridge. He put the coffee aside to open it properly. It turned out to be a pack of sliced cheese.

“Why did I arrange for your stuff from the motel to be brought back here? Why did I bother to locate your bike and bring it back as well? Well, you know me, Cap, I’m a humanitarian.”

_Humanitarian? Seriously?_

Conflicted between being grateful – after all he’d never asked him to do that – and irritated by the way he said it Steve settled for cutting right to the chase. Tony was a master at distractions and he wasn’t going to fall for that.

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know that!”

Dark eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

“Do I? Oh, in that case I fear you have to be more specific than that, Cap.”

_Do you always have to be so damn infuriating?_

“Dr. Gardener’s advice for further treatment, of course. Why provide a physician if you’re disregarding her medical opinion?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Tony merely raised an eyebrow, rolled up a slice of cheese and bit into it. “Oh come on, Old Man, you should’ve realized by now that I never listen to doctors.”

In moments like these he had a hard time remembering why he held the other man in such high regards.

“This isn’t a joke, Stark,” he growled.

Tony tilted his head. His posture was still relaxed but his eyes were gleaming darkly.

“I know. And that’s exactly why I won’t do that! Too many people have already been in contact with him. Too many lives have been at risk already! I won’t risk anybody else with that maniac. So no, forget it Rogers!”

_Maniac? Did he really…_

Before he knew it he stood halfway into the room, his arms at his side again. Tense. Just like his voice, straining against his urge to shout his anger in his face. “Tony, he’s been through hell. He _needs_ a psychologist. Someone to talk to. Someone who knows how to help him.”

A loud _slap_ sounded through the room as the package with cheese hit the counter with unnecessary force. “What he _needs_ is a prison cell and someone to disable that infernal arm of his to minimize the threat he poses.”

Another step took him right into Stark’s personal space, looming over the smaller man. His hands were balled to fists and it got harder and harder to keep from hurting that obnoxious bastard of a friend.

“And you think you’re just the man for the job.”

“Someone _has_ to!” Tony hissed back, not giving even an inch.

_He just wants to get his hands on the arm._

That stung. Realizing the truth about his so called _friend_.

“He’s a human being, Stark!” he snapped.

“He’s a cyborg!” the other man shouted right back.

This was getting him nowhere. And as much as he hated that fact right now but this tower was the best place for Bucky. Cause Tony was right in one point: should anything go wrong, no civilians would get hurt. Not with the security system and Jarvis and Iron Man and himself.

It cost him a great deal of willpower to fight his anger down and take a few steps back.

Arguing wouldn’t help any of them right now.

Breathing deeply he rubbed his brow. He would wait until Tony would calm down and until then he’d deal with the situation the best way he could.

God, he was tired.

And he couldn’t help letting that show as he fixed his eyes on the billionaire again. “Do you really have to lock Jefferson in as well?”

Now it was Tony who crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Oh, you mean Mr. I-don’t-exist? You sprung this on me, Rogers. You brought the murderer of my parents into my home and expect me to _help_ him. And you also bring a stranger that not even Jarvis can find anything about. No records, no pictures, no documents. Nothing! But oh, what a coincidence, he looks exactly like the assassin in the hospital bed. So, no! I won’t let him go anywhere until I know exactly who he is!”

Tony’s expression – his whole posture – was the epitome of stubbornness. And a challenge for answers.

Steve sighed. “He’s- that’s really complicated.”

There was no way he could ever explain that. Certainly not now. He wasn’t even sure if he should.

“For all I know he’s a clone that Hydra designed in case the original failed.“

He could tell that Tony didn’t believe that. And he could also tell that there was nothing to win here today.

So he backed down. Admitted defeat. For now.

With a heavy sigh he turned.

“This isn’t over, Tony.”

He headed back to the elevator, longing for some sleep.

And better company.

 

 

 

Bucky lay awake for a while now. Alone in the darkness of the night.

Only it wasn’t really dark. Soft, indirect lighting filled the room with a quiet atmosphere and lots of shadows.

And he wasn’t really alone. Steve sat in a chair next to him with his head bowed at an uncomfortable angle. He was fast asleep. His presence was strangely soothing. Although he was glad that he was sleeping. That gave him more time to actually process everything that had happened and sort through the chaos in his mind.

He felt better. Stronger already, but still far from his usual strength.

Also, now that at least one of his arms was free again, he felt confident enough to be able to break free should the need arise. If not from that strange glowing contraption than at least from the bed frame itself. For the moment he was content with getting his strength back and observing.

He didn’t like this situation. Locked up, tied up, with doctors in white coats and strange voices from the ceiling that spoke of more imprisonment. He didn’t like it when he couldn’t see the people he was dealing with. It made a proper assessment that much harder.

And yet there was one Steve Rogers right at his side, giving him pause.

He came to rescue him. He took him here.

And some part of him, deep inside, _trusted_ him. He couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t understand it or grasp it, but it was undeniably _there_. And it was powerful.

After all, here he was, keeping still instead of wrecking havoc to get out.

And so far no one had hurt him. Not even the woman in the white coat. Instead she’d partly freed him, had checked his condition with an unfamiliar gentleness and had constantly tried to get him to talk – which he hadn’t of course.

It made no sense.

The soft rustle of clothes that had accompanied his musings for a while now grew suddenly louder. As did the mumbling. The irritating disturbance drew his eyes towards the corner that held the perpetrator. The man who claimed to be his brother. He kept his distance ever since their short interlude but he never left.

And he hated that. It made him itchy. And angry.

And to irritate him even further he seemed to have a nightmare. If the strings of ‘no’s and ‘please’s were any indication. His mumbling turned louder, more agitated, accompanied by jerking movements of his head and arms.

Bucky turned a murderous glare in his direction, even thinking about throwing the plastic cup with water from his bedside table at him, just to get some peace again. Now he could make out even more words in that incessant muttering, or better, it seemed to consist of those words. An endless stream of “get it to work”, whatever that was supposed to mean.

He was just about to grab for that cup when the man jerked awake with an outcry. And fell to the floor, twitching and disoriented.

Next thing Steve startled awake as well and Bucky hurried to close his eyes to small slits to feign sleep. But he was still able to watch.

The impostor was clearly badly shaken and pushed Steve away with a muttered “’m alright” and a hand at his neck, before he stumbled out of the door with nothing but a murmured “bathroom”.

Steve gazed after him, uncertain, then sat back down in his chair.

_Finally he’s gone!_

It was still a mystery to him how it was possible that he could remember his early childhood so vividly whereas everything else was mostly gone. But now that those memories were there, they haunted him. Taunted him. They awoke a longing in him. For the loving touch of his mother. For the deep, rumbling laugh of his father. And most of all for that closeness that he’d shared with his brother. His twin. They made him remember that warmth again, but it was only a memory and he wanted the real thing back.

Only, it was gone.

Taken from him by 68 years of captivity.

That man therefore couldn’t possibly be his brother. And that knowledge hurt. And it made him angry that this man claimed to be his Jeff.

Again his thoughts were interrupted. This time by the strange voice that came out of nowhere. It was whispering now. And their words proved what he’d suspected all along: there was someone out there watching them. Someone who didn’t want to interfere himself. Who wanted anonymity. Or who didn’t dare to get involved.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Capt. Rogers, but Mr. Jefferson seems to be in need of assistance.”

He was surprised by that novel feeling of jealousy that surged through him as Steve stood up and left – although hesitantly if his furrowed brow and his troubled eyes were any indication.

The scene from the helicarrier played out before his eyes, unbidden.

 _Cause I’m with you till the end of the line_.

And now he left him behind for that fraud.

_No, he hasn’t left you behind. He never does._

Bucky had no idea how, but he knew that it was true.

Just like it always was with Steve. He just knew things. Got that gut feeling. Nothing else, though. Only a few flashes here and there. Things he couldn’t quite figure out or place.

A scrawny looking Steve hovering over him, a small hand against his brow.

Steve smiling, a ridiculous looking Captain America poster behind him.

A friendly slap against the back of his head.

A terrible, wet cough and the instant tendrils of fear in its wake.

It was always like that. The shadow of a memory, but mostly a feeling.

And overall a sense of warmth, of closeness. Almost like in that memories of Jeff.

But most of all there was this overlying feeling of trust.

Bucky stretched a bit and raised his hand for that cup of water. The drip was out now and he needed to keep hydrated to further counteract the exhaustion and the lingering headache.

It had been a close call, he could feel it.

He still wondered what had happened. Rumlow had found him. And he had been ready for a fight, ‘cause under no circumstances was he going to go back to Hydra. Rumlow should’ve had no chance against him, but he had smirked as if he’d won already and then… nothing.

Next thing he remembered was waking up, trapped in that vice, unable to get free. _“Oh, great, you’re awake now. I’ve got to collect another price as it seems. Enjoy yourself. When I’m back it’s time to put you in your place!”_ And with that Rumlow had been gone.

Had left him unable to move.

And with a damaged arm.

He could see the dented metal. Mostly, though, he could feel it. Not pain or anything, just the inability to move the wrist or his fingers. Merely his thumb was mobile, at least in a very small range. It was a bit disconcerting. Not being able to use it properly. Of course his training included one-handed fighting styles. Nevertheless he preferred to have both arms and hands at his disposal should he need to defend himself or fight his way out of here.

Just another wish that wouldn’t be granted.

The door opened again and he quickly closed his eyes, not ready to face another of Steve’s tries at conversation.

Only it wasn’t Steve.

_Caucasion. Male. No visible weapon._

_Status: tense, hostile._

_Current risk level: attack possible, defensive actions recommended._

“Finally alone.”

 

 

 

“I know you’re awake.“

He’d monitored the room ever since Barnes took up residence there and he’d seen him awake and moving just moments ago when he’d thought no one was looking.

It had taken quite some time to finally catch him alone without at least one of his chaperones. Tony’s patience had been wearing thin already. In fact he had been thinking about staging a scenario where they had to leave. It hadn’t been necessary in the end.

A small smile danced across his lips as he noticed the way the assassin tensed up at his comment. And opened his eyes.

Blazing eyes, almost hidden in the shadows beneath his eyebrows and full of malice.

 _How does Steve not_ see _this?_

“Who are you?” the man growled in a rough voice.

Tony merely huffed, his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest. “You may be fooling Rogers but I’m not buying your act, so spare me.”

He watched as the Hydra agent pushed himself up into a sitting position as much as the hold on his left arm allowed him. The white pajama-like hospital gown did nothing to lessen the threat behind each of his movements.

Nevertheless Tony stepped closer, squaring his shoulders, and said with a casual tone: “Since you’re currently residing under my roof and enjoying my hospitality I think it’s only fair if you answer me something. Just a tiny little question. WHY?”

He shouted the last word into his face, letting all his anger and resentment run free. At the same time he took another, abrupt step closer and placed his hands heavily on the footboard.

With glee he noted the assassin flinch before his expression turned even colder and his eyes narrowed. The metal arm twitched, without a doubt he tried to move it or even break free.

A futile notion.

The man’s other hand grabbed for the side of the bed, most likely as leverage in another attempt to pull free given the straining muscles of his shoulders and neck.

_You won’t get out of here._

_And I will get my answers. One way or another!_

“You killed my parents. And I want to know why! Well, I can imagine why, but I want you to say it!” he snarled.

Instead of an answer he got a scowl, framed by dark strands of hair, and a clenched jaw.

Tony’s knuckles turned white on the footrest. His arms were almost shaking from the strain. This damn infuriating monster had the audacity to ignore him!

“Howard Stark? Maria Stark? Ring any bells? Hydra wanted them dead and you killed them. I want you to say it. _Say it!_ “

He was panting with anger now.

_Just say it!_

_Say that you killed them._

_Admit it!_

_Say it!_

He needed to hear it. He wasn’t sure why, only that he did.

The other man was shuffling around in the bed. Tony couldn’t suppress his smirk at making him uneasy under all his harsh demeanor.

“Say it!”

Again no reaction. Nothing but that cold stare.

“Capt. Rogers is on his way back, Sir.”

Furious with the interruption Tony pushed himself back the same moment that the assassin suddenly slid down on the bed and kicked one foot out.

Taken off-guard he stumbled back another step. That kick would’ve hit him full force in the stomach if he hadn’t moved when he had.

With murder in his eyes he glared up at the other man who was just scrambling up again on the mattress.

_Bastard!_

_I’ve underestimated you!_

_Never again, I can promise you that!_

“One way or another, I got what I came for. You’re a monster and I’ll make sure that you get what you deserve!”

That said he pushed out of the room, his hands balled to fists at his sides.

This proofed everything he’d feared and known already.

That guy was more than dangerous.

Steve was making a terrible mistake here.

_Fortunately, I’m not so gullible._

_It’s on me now to keep everyone safe and to make you see the truth, Cap._

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for Part One.  
> The foundations are laid.
> 
> And in case someone's wondering:  
> Rura Penthe is from Star Trek. It's a penal colony of the Klingon Empire, a prison planet if you'd like. One with almost no guards since the climate at the surface is so harsh they don't really need to worry about prisoners escaping.


	5. Part Two: Insecurity - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their first night in their new appartment.  
> Or prison.  
> Whatever you want to call it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since Tony demanded to be the center of attention in the last chapter it's only fair to focus on our favorite boys again ;)

**Part Two: Insecurity**

Nighttime = Trouble Time

_Your work has been a gift to mankind._

A young woman in a sunflower dress. Blood spreading through the fabric over her heart.

An old man in the remains of a car, squashed behind a steering wheel. Blood was dripping from his graying moustache.

An asian man in a suit, his dark eyes dry and empty. Only the third eye on his forehead was weeping dark red tears.

_You shaped a century._

More faces flashed before his eyes.

Dead faces with unseeing eyes.

Just faces.

Bleeding. Accusing. And vanishing.

_But you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine._

A car coming towards him. Firing the detonator with deadly precision.

The car exploding, somersaulting and crashing.

Feeling the immense heat. Smelling the smoke.

Ripping the door right off the vehicle.

Staring at a hole in the ground. Staring at his failure.

_Prep him._

The chair. Again in the chair.

It was always the chair.

Lashing out as bits of memory and reality started to blur.

_Then wipe him and start over._

The chair digging into him. Clasping him. Holding him.

Pain.

So much…

Gasping loudly he blinked into the semi-darkness of the room. His chest was heaving just like in his dream. In his memory of the chair. Only there was no pain.

Bucky sat up properly, pulling his legs out from under the blanket and placing them on the floor to ground himself. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and hid the lower half of his face behind his folded hands to calm down. The fingers of his metal hand were stiff and cold against his skin. Unmoving. Useless.

He remembered the attack on the man from S.H.I.E.L.D., the black man in the car. They never told him his name. It wasn’t important. Nonetheless, the memory was new.

And just like so many other nights since he’d left Steve at the banks of the Potomac he’d remembered the chair.

His breathing slowed down a bit, sounding loud in the quiet room and strained behind his hands, just like behind the mask.

He dropped his hands as if he’d been burnt. His mouth opened in shock as he stared at his hands.

Had he done that on purpose?

Searching for something familiar in his shaken state?

Or had it been coincidence? Just a normal gesture that happened to remind him of his time with Hydra?

No matter which of those possibilities held more truth, in the end neither of them horrified him as much as his dream had. As painful and terrible it had been, it wasn’t even the chair. Not even the sheer endless amount of dead faces. Faces – he knew – that belonged to his victims.

No. The thing that horrified him, that really, truly horrified him was that he hadn’t felt a thing killing them.

He only remembered the full course of events in a few cases, but there was _nothing_ in any of them. No sorrow, no remorse, no reluctance, no anger, no guilt. Nothing.

Just a sense of duty and the knowledge of doing the right thing.

It sickened him.

The right thing? How were they able to make him believe that?

To feel nothing at taking a life.

He was a human being after all. He should’ve cared, shouldn’t he? At least on some level?

Or had he been like this even before Hydra?

_I couldn’t kill Steve._

True. The mere thought had bothered him. So much that he hadn’t even been able to _let him die_.

_What have they turned me into?_

He huffed. The question was almost funny since he had barely an idea what he’d been before let alone what he was now.

Let alone what he was doing here.

Going against everything common sense told him and putting his trust into a man he barely knew. That had worked out pretty fantastic so far. First he’d been drugged then he’d woken up in this deathtrap of an apartment that was nothing but a prison, no matter how luxurious its interior. He shouldn’t be here. Being on show, on display. Right for the picking when Hydra found him here. And he knew they were looking for him. He should fight his way out and go underground again. Sort his head out – especially now with all those childhood memories of a life in another world that had popped up out of nowhere – and kill some more Hydra agents in the process.

And yet he was still here.

Something about Steve just made it impossible to go. He was the only connection to his past that he had. Maybe the only one who could actually help him to get some order in the chaos of his mind. And he wanted to understand that magnetism that pulled him close. That made him secretly crave the moments when they talked.

He wanted answers.

Bucky tensed the moment he heard the door move. His head shot up on instinct but he couldn’t see anything. The big shelf that separated the bed from the rest of the room had a bluish back cover made of some kind of glass that wasn’t see-through.

“Bucky? Is everything alright?”

_The impostor!_

In a matter of seconds he was out of his bed and pressed against the shelf, moving quickly and without a single noise. He had no weapons and he was still unable to move his damaged left hand but he wouldn’t need either against that man should he attack.

If he could he would’ve repaired the arm himself already. Without the proper tools and – more importantly – without the knowledge how it worked in the first place that was out of the question anyway. There was nothing he could do about it. For now he’d have to make do. In the end one useless hand trumped being back at Hydra’s mercy any day.

It didn’t take long until the man who looked just like him had crossed the room and stepped around the shelf into the sleeping area. His eyes quickly scanned the empty bed then found him, lurking in the shadows. The impostor jumped a bit, letting out a nervous laugh before he turned serious again.

“Bucky? Are you alright? I heard some noise…“ The way he said his name made him shiver. It reminded him so much of Jeff. The real Jeff. But he couldn’t be.

He came closer.

“Go. Away.” His words were low and threatening. And he meant them.

He wanted that fraud gone. Wanted him to stop playing the part of his dead brother and just leave.

He wanted to be alone. Especially after that dream.

“Please, I just want to help…” The other man took another step closer and put his hand on his right arm.

Bucky acted on instinct. Before he actively decided on anything the other man was already flying through the air and connected with the darkened glass of the windows. He dropped to the floor with a groan, nothing but a vulnerable and absurd looking heap of limbs and underwear and that ridiculous scarf.

Had he been sleeping with that thing?

“Jarvis, give me some light!”

And all of a sudden the formerly mostly dark room was lit by a low, warm glow. And Steve hurried in.

Bucky still stood close to the shelf and just watched as Steve looked at him for a moment then knelt down next to the impostor and helped him to his feet. The man seemed a bit dazed and held his head.

“I’m fine. No need to worry,” his doppelganger mumbled.

“I think maybe you should leave now,” Steve said.

The man seemed ready to object but then he looked at him again, actually dared to cross gazes again and his face fell. Without another word he left the room, his shoulders slouching, and closed the door.

Steve sighed and turned towards him. His eyes scrutinized him from head to toe then took in the bed until it lingered somewhere in the corner.

Confused, Bucky followed his gaze. There was a long indentation in the wall right next to his bed he hadn’t noticed before. It hadn’t been there the other day. He looked down at his metal arm. There was no other explanation. He must have lashed out in his dream. And woken up the others in the process.

“You alright?“

He nodded – more out of reflex than as an actual answer to his question – and sat back down on the bed, his shoulders sagging as he dared to relax once more.

Steve came closer, slowly, and sat down next to him.

It felt familiar to be this close to him. Good and reassuring and so damn familiar, although he couldn’t remember even one moment where they’d sat like this, ever. And yet his subconscious felt completely at ease. It was confusing and dizzying and… pleasant.

“I take it you had a nightmare. If you- want to talk about it…”

The old man in the car flashed up before his eyes, as did the other dead faces. He saw himself shooting at the black S.H.I.E.L.D. agent through the wall of an apartment and then being chased by Steve himself.

No, he had absolutely _no_ desire to talk about any of this.

Maybe staying here wasn’t so bad an idea after all. Yes, he was locked up here and he didn’t like it. But the voice of Jarvis – it came from a computer program, there was no real person behind it – had called this imprisonment a safety issue. Even Steve had agreed. And after what had just happened he wasn’t sure if they weren’t right.

If nothing else then his dream had shown him what he was capable of.

And just like with these new memories of a life with a brother, with a family, he just _knew_ that if anyone could help him find out who he really was, than it was Steve.

That’s what he wanted after all. Getting back to the person he’d been before; a real person not a killer, right?

He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

But he trusted Steve.

He just couldn’t figure out how the impostor fit into the picture.

“Why is he here?”

 _What is he doing here? And who_ is _he?_

_Maybe Hydra sent him. Planted him here to mess with my head even more._

_But to what purpose?_

“Jefferson? He’s here because he cares about you. He’s your bro…“

“He’s _not_ my brother. He’s an impostor.” And all of a sudden it seemed important to warn the other man, to keep him safe. “You can’t trust him, Steve.“

The blond skidded sideways until he sat with one leg up on the bed, truly facing him. “You remember him?”

Bucky ignored the hopeful tone. “Yes. I had a brother once. A twin brother. But that man isn’t him. 70 years, Steve. It’s impossible.“

That man was more dangerous to him than any threat he’d faced so far. Not because he was Hydra most likely or because he was a skilled fighter, which he clearly wasn’t.

No, that man was dangerous, because a part of him _wanted_ him to be the real thing.

The memories of his brother were fresh in his mind. Real, tangible memories, not just vage feelings. Memories of a closeness, a connection to another being, of trust and friendship and safety and _love_.

Each time he looked at the fraud something tugged at him. Each time their gazes crossed his chest tightened. And each time he had to fight the feeling that it _could_ be true.

And that made him angry.

Because it couldn’t be true.

Because it made him vulnerable.

Because this impostor, whoever he was, used his looks and the only untouched memories he had left against him.

Steve’s hand was suddenly on his leg, right above the knee. The touch came unexpected and he startled for a second. He wasn’t used to casual touches. And yet instead of feeling threatened or alarmed it just felt- good where the blond’s warmth seeped through the fabric of his sweat pants.

Only then did he realize that his right hand was balled into a fist.

“I know it’s hard to believe. I didn’t either at first, but he’s the real one, Bucky. He _is_ your brother.”

_What?_

He looked up and searched Steve’s face, just as he had done on the helicarrier. The other man truly believed what he said.

His instincts told him that Steve would never lie to him, that he could trust him. But his mind refused to believe. It was impossible after all. Steve must have been tricked.

A smile graced Steve’s lips. “Time is a fickle thing. We are proof of that. Why should we be the only ones?”

_Is he implying…_

“And anyway,” Steve’s hand gave his leg a squeeze, “you’re twins. You’re connected since before birth, so… I know it sounds overly cheesy, but… what does your heart say?”

Bucky blinked, stared at the other man for a moment, shocked. His words way too close to his own thoughts. So he turned away, avoiding eye contact at all cost, and pressed his lips together. Hard.

It didn’t make the tight feeling around his chest go away, though.

 

 

 

Steve leaned heavily against the closed door at his back.

He had only tried to reach his friend. He hadn’t been ready to see that look yet again. That same look in his eyes as on the helicarrier. The one so full of pain and confusion.

_But it means hope as well._

_He remembers._

_And deep down he knows. He just has to get there._

But he had to do that on his own time.

He’d been told too many things these last decades that he’d been expected to believe, to take at face value. No, he needed to do this by himself.

Steve closed his eyes and rubbed his face. He really hoped he could do this. If only Sam could be here, he was better with stuff like this.

_“With everything you told me so far I’d say he trusts you. That’s a good thing. Just try and use it. Be there. Get him to open up to you. He needs to talk about what happened. But don’t push it.”_

_“I’m no shrink, Sam. I’m not trained for this.”_

_“No, you’re not. But you’re his friend. And you’re the best thing he got for now. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Someone needs to kick Stark’s ass.”_

Unfortunately that would take a while since Sam was still in the hospital after his accident on his search for Bucky. The fracture had turned out pretty complicated.

With a tired sigh he pushed himself off. He needed to find Jefferson.

Steve turned right towards the big bedroom. The lights were still on from when he’d woken from a loud crack. He’d been so disoriented at first and distracted by Jefferson’s obvious absence that it had taken him a moment to get to the other room. The former portal jumper must’ve been unable to sleep and roaming the apartment. And had therefore gotten to Bucky first.

He stepped into the giant room that was dominated by an enormous bed framed by two walls of glass. Steve had intended to share the room with Bucky since he didn’t react very well to Jefferson so far, while the other man had agreed to take the spare bed in the office slash guestroom.

Well, they had made their plans without regard to Bucky. He’d bolted the room as soon as he’d come to, inspected the whole apartment and locked himself away in the guestroom. So now Steve shared the master bedroom with Jefferson. They’d gotten used to sharing over the last week and the bed surely was big enough. And neither of them wanted for the other to have to sleep on the couch on their accord.

The important thing was that Bucky was comfortable. Well, as much as possible under the circumstances. And if he preferred privacy then privacy he’d get.

Steve – and he knew that the same was true for Jefferson – was still livid with Tony for slipping drugs into Bucky’s breakfast so he’d be unconscious for the transport to the prepared apartment. But that couldn’t be helped now. What’s done is done.

A quick look around the corner and into the ensuite bathroom told him that Jefferson wasn’t here.

He turned and systematically checked the rest of the apartment. The bathroom out in the hall was also empty, as was the yoga room in the corner.

His first wandering around yesterday had told him that this apartment must’ve been intended for Banner. Though luxurious it was far more conservatively designed and furnished than Tony’s own rooms, let alone the science department. The assortment of science books and journals in the office together with the classic literature in the living room were another hint, but the almost empty room with the yoga mats really gave it away.

He still wondered if Tony expected all the Avengers to live here in the tower or if he just wanted to impress them with his foresight and luxury in case they needed a place to crash. Building them all apartments, designed for their own tastes and preferences… it would certainly match Tony’s strange ways of showing affection.

Steve turned into the second corridor that opened up into the dark kitchen. He checked there first, but it was empty as well. Only one room left. He waved his hand across the sensor in the wall that opened the almost completely hidden sliding door and stepped directly from the kitchen into the dark living room. Merely the lights from the city outside illuminated it.

It was enough to make out Jefferson’s dark silhouette on the couch. The pretty large piece of furniture consisted of two curved pieces facing each other, loosely forming an ellipse. The dark haired man currently sat bowed down, with his back towards him and his face in his hands.

“Jefferson?“

No reaction. The soft noise of the door must have alarmed him of his presence. Either that or he hadn’t heard him at all, otherwise he would’ve startled.

“Jarvis? A little bit of light please?”

Instantly a gentle glow of warm indirect lighting from various sources filled the room. A low moan and a flinch were the only answer.

Steve crossed the room in quick strides until he was right in front of the other man. From up close now he could see that his face was only buried in one hand, the other one was carefully holding the back of his head.

He sat down, the fluffy carpet caressing his bare feet.

“Let me see,” was all he said in a hushed tone.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not,” he protested.

Jefferson sighed then lowered his hands and sat up straighter, wincing. There’d surely be bruises forming on his back the way he’d crashed against that window.

Steve turned the other man’s head a bit and carefully felt for injuries. Only moments later Jefferson hissed and flinched under his hands as his fingertips connected with a small lump that promised to grow further.

“Stay here.”

He got up and back into the kitchen where he prepared an ice bag – after Jarvis told him where to find one. When they’d looked around and familiarized themselves with their new surroundings the kitchen hadn’t been his priority. He’d sorted out their bags that Tony’d retrieved from Vermont as well as their clothes which had been cleaned and put them with the simple and practical assortment of clothes that had already been in the wardrobe.  But mostly he’d been focused on making sure that Bucky was okay in his room.

He headed back and held the ice bag against the back of Jefferson’s head as he sat down. The whole situation felt familiar. Them together, night, trouble, an ice bag for Jefferson’s souvenir from previous trouble. And yet it was different this time.

“I’m sorry I dismissed you like that.”

The dark-haired shrugged. He took the bag out of his hands and leaned back against the cushions, holding it in place himself. He looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. There was so much pain in his eyes. Not physical one but… he seemed crestfallen.

“It’s the curse all over again. He’s right in front of me, but he doesn’t recognize me.” He huffed. “Worse. He hates me.“

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s… just not trusting you.“

A sarcastic, broken laugh was the answer. “Yeah, that’s so much better.” He sighed and rolled his eyes up as if he was seeking for something – patience, guidance, whatever – then sat up again and faced him.

“Look, don’t get me wrong, I- I understand. He remembers you. I’m just the creepy guy who looks like him and sticks around. I know he needs time. It’s just…” He bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment. “It still _hurts_.”

_Yes it does!_

Steve knew that first hand. The other afternoon they’d talked. Really talked. For the first time since- forever.

_“Some things are clear, but without context. Or it’s like watching them but not being part of it. Others are- I don’t know, it’s- I know that there’s something, but I can’t grasp it. Like those lines you said.”_

_“What lines?”_

_“’Cause I’m with you till the end of the line’. I know I’ve heard them before, but-“_

_“You said them to me once. I thought- you stopped fighting. I thought you’d recognized them. But if you didn’t- why did you save me, Buck?”_

_“I don’t know, Steve. It just- it felt- natural.”_

“I don’t think he remembers me.” It was painful to admit. As if saying it out loud would make it real somehow. “It’s more like intuition than actual memory. But he does remember you!“

Jefferson’s head snapped up only for him to wince at the sudden movement. “What?”

“He remembers you. He has difficulties with believing, though. Just- just give him time. And a bit of space. He’ll get there, I’m sure. It’s just a bit much right now.“

The other man just stared at him with his mouth open, looking painfully vulnerable in his hopefulness. He nodded slowly and licked his lips before a smile tugged at them.

“He remembers me.”

Steve grinned back, it was impossible not to when faced with such simple, unadulterated joy. He leaned back, welcoming the cushions against his weary frame.

_You really should get some sleep, Rogers!_

_Crisis is averted. Bucky is alright and trying to sleep again. And Jefferson’s alright as well, apart from that little lump. You can go to b…_

He shot up from the couch, instantly alert again, startling Jefferson in the process.

“Jarvis! Did you report that incidence to Tony?”

“I did.”

“Damn!”

_At the slightest sign that he’s planning something or that he acts violent, Jarvis is ordered to knock him out._

Jefferson stood up as well, completely bewildered but alarmed nonetheless. “What is it? Steve?”

“Why didn’t you interfere?” He needed to know. Had Tony changed his orders regarding Bucky or was there another reason.

“Huh?” Jefferson frowned.

But Jarvis obviously realized that the question was directed at him. “There was no need since you arrived at the scene right at that moment.”

 _And then I_ will _make that call._

Tony’s threat rang in his ears as if he’d just heard him say it.

As did Natasha’s promise from their phone call a day ago.

_“Bozhe moy! I won’t say I don’t understand his side, your guy shot me twice after all, but- are you sure he’s still in there?”_

_“Yes, absolutely.”_

_“Alright. Tony can be a stubborn ass_ and _an idiot, so, if you need help on that front, call me!”_

He fixed the dark-haired man in front of him with his gaze for a moment then looked towards the door.

“I need to talk to Tony. Right now. Where is he, Jarvis?”

“Mr. Stark is currently in his workshop.”

“Thank you.”

And just like that he left a confused and nervous Jefferson, running to the bedroom where he grabbed his phone. Just in case he needed to call Nat.

The next moment he was out the door, hoping that he wasn’t too late already.

 

TBC


	6. Part Two: Insecurity - Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky does some thinking.  
> Jefferson isn't good at waiting, though.

**Part Two: Insecurity**

Crazy and Scary

 

Dull thumping sounds could be heard from the yoga room. They weren’t regular and they weren’t loud but listening to them Jefferson got even more jittery than he already was.

Anyway, where the hell had Steve gotten the punch bag all of a sudden that he’d installed next to the yoga mats?

_Does it matter?_

_At least he’s got something to do._

Reaching the wall he turned again and started another round of pacing in the hallway. He walked along the big painting that covered the wall opposite the front door, a strange looking mixture of geometry and something that a child would draw with the color palette of Wonderland at their disposal. It was the epitome of ugly and he made an effort of not looking at it.

Which wasn’t too hard at the moment since his eyes were drawn by the door to Bucky’s room. It was intended as some kind of office, but now it was simply Bucky’s room ever since he’d entrenched himself inside.

It had been four days since his brother had flung him against the window. Four days since Steve had left in a frenzied hurry. Four days since he’d learned that Bucky actually _did_ remember him.

Four days that he’d waited. And nothing had changed.

Steve had through some kind of miracle managed to avert a disaster in the form of Tony Stark. Learning about that bastard’s threat had put him even more on edge than before. And his dislike for the man had spiked astronomically.

_“This was a mistake. A giant mistake! We can’t stay here, Steve. That son of a bitch is dangerous! We- we need to go. Now! Break out! Together we can do it, right? There has to be a way out. We can’t stay here. Not like this!”_

_“Maybe not, but- for the moment it is safe here. Hydra can’t reach him here.”_

_“Hydra?”_

_“You’ve been there. Rumlow was hunting for Bucky. Hydra wants their asset back and I’m not sure if they want him dead or alive. It doesn’t matter. The important thing is, they’ve got the manpower and the resources and they won’t give up. Out there- the odds aren’t in Bucky’s favor. It’s not safe.”_

_“But he’s not safe in here either, Steve! Not with that bastard threatening to ‘deliver him to justice’ every time there’s a hiccup. You’ve seen him in the infirmary. He’s going to take him apart. Treat him as a lab rat again. I can’t… I…”_

_“I know, Jefferson. I know. But with Tony there’s at least the possibility of talking things through. And if we break out now, assuming we’d actually be able to pull that off, we’d have him on our bad side for sure. Then we’d be running from Tony, from the military, from the government-“_

_“And from Hydra… I see. Dammit! I hate this! But when will this stop? We can’t stay here forever, Steve.”_

_“I know, but- one problem at a time. And right now the priority is Bucky.”_

_“Yeah, Bucky… you’re right.”_

Nevertheless he’d been relieved that for now he didn’t had to be afraid of soldiers storming the apartment and taking his brother away. He’d tried to push the oppressing feeling of the constantly looming threat away but whenever he actually managed his thoughts immediately settled onto Bucky which wasn’t exactly putting his mind at ease either. The constant echo of “he remembers you” and “difficulties with believing” and “he’s just not trusting you” in his head distracted him, yes, but they pushed him anywhere from tremendous joy to absolute misery.

He’d thought he’d feel better after finding his brother, with knowing he was alright.

Instead he felt more on edge than before.

They weren’t pressed for time anymore. There was no action, nothing to do but sit around, worry about the sword of Damocles in the name of Stark and wait for Bucky.

Of course he wanted to give him all the time he needed.

But this whole situation, dealing with the destructive power of memories again, being locked up in yet another kind of prison with nothing to keep his mind occupied, he could practically feel the madness lurking in the corner, waiting to strike.

Steve worked out or read when he wasn’t in _there_ , talking with Bucky.

 _He_ wanted to be in there with his brother.

Instead he was pacing out here or bustling about the apartment, restless. He’d tried cooking which worked at first but know he wasn’t even able to concentrate on that anymore.

As Bucky had left his room for the first time for more than just a short trip to the bathroom Jefferson had been hopeful. But his brother had been tense every second he’d spent outside that room, ready to- bolt? Attack? He wasn’t sure.

The only thing he was sure about was that Bucky had observed him. As in “never let him out of his eyes”. Always that skeptical, cold look on his face as if he were scrutinizing the enemy.

_You need to give him time, Jefferson!_

He almost laughed out loud at that thought.

He had no idea how much time he had left until he’d lose it. Would just- snap.

He felt trapped, just like during the curse. He wanted to bear it if it gave him a chance at building a connection with his brother again. He really wanted to but he wasn’t sure if he could.

With nothing to keep him occupied there was nothing to keep his nightmares at bay either.

And everything seemed to get mixed up in his head at night and left him even more agitated and nervous during the day.

Rumlow forcing him to make hats, all the while taunting him by whispering into his ear: _get it to work_!

The guards chasing him through his house in Storybrooke, but he couldn’t get out. Until he was dragged before the Queen of Hearts who cut off his arm.

Him shooting Bucky who then died in his arms.

And the worst of all: finding Grace, frozen still in that horrible cryo-contraption from Bucky’s file. Locked away behind ice.

He was so damn tired. His nights were spent with startling awake, evading the increasingly worried Steve, wandering around, watching mindless TV with a cup of tea in his hands and inevitably fall asleep again on the couch. Only to repeat the cycle.

Calling Grace and talking to her hadn’t helped either. He couldn’t really open up to her, not as long as the issue with Bucky was unresolved but he wanted to. And of course Grace had noticed that something was off about him. And now she was worried about him. He hated it but he didn’t know what else to do.

The fact that the person who’d created the ice wall around Storybrooke was suddenly incapable of bringing it down again and was now treated as a friend and not a threat wasn’t exactly putting his mind at ease either.

His fingers started drumming a nervous rhythm against his thighs while his teeth worked his bottom lip so hard it actually hurt.

He couldn’t take this much longer. He needed to do something.

_Talk to him. But take it slow, one step at a time. Don’t push him. Just… show him that he can trust you._

Victor’s words of advice were still fresh in his mind, even days after their chat on the phone.

His eyes darted to that door again.

It was now or never. If he made another turn in that hallway he was sure to wear the floor thin enough to actually break through it.

_Hey, at least you have an escape plan now._

He laughed for a moment. The sound too shrill, too shaky. Quickly he shook his head, trying to get rid of that sound – and his unease – that way.

Accompanied by the soft thumping of Steve’s boxing in the background Jefferson finally knocked at the door and listened closely.

“Steve?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, braced up and banished all thoughts of bruised backs and aching bumps from his mind. He was fine now. He just had to keep in mind to be more careful.

Pushing the door open he took a tentative step forward and tried for a non-threatening tone. “No, it’s me. Jefferson.”

The reaction was immediate. He hadn’t really noticed his brother before but now he saw swift movement at the other side of the room right at the foot of the bed. And suddenly Bucky was staying in the opening between the window and the shelf that divided the room.

_Has he just been lying on the floor?_

He wasn’t sure.

Right now he was facing him, in nothing but dark sweats and a white longsleeve, yet he was still the most threatening sight he’d ever seen.

The bulk of muscles, the gleaming metal of his left hand, the sheer power that he radiated. Let alone the icy menace of his eyes.

_Look at us. One soul, divided in two parts._

_One crazy and the other scary._

He barely managed to keep a desperate laugh from slipping out.

Bucky crossed his arms in front of his chest. He said not one word, although his eyes conveyed the message quite clearly: _leave_!

Jefferson swallowed and wetted his lips with his tongue.

“I- I know you don’t believe me. And that’s fine… I guess. It’s just- I wanted to apologize. For the other night, you know.” God, he hadn’t stammered that much since, well, since his involuntary prolonged stay in Wonderland. “I should’ve respected your personal space.”

_I just wanted to help you. Be there for you. Hold you._

_It’s hard, getting your brother back, the one you shared everything with, and to realize that that closeness is gone. It hurts, Bucky._

He said none of that, naturally. Instead he was silent and waited for a reaction.

There was none.

Jefferson pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a moment, trying desperately to accept that and leave again to not push too harshly. And all the while every cell in his body screamed for him to cross the room, grab those broad shoulders and shake him.

Of course he knew that would be the most stupid thing to do, ever.

At least he’d apologized.

He sighed, his shoulders sagging, his eyes on the floor – he couldn’t face that cold eyes anymore.

There was just one other thing he needed to say.

“I know you remember me. So I have to presume you remember at least _something_ of your childhood. And I’m glad you do. Especially after everything…“ He couldn’t finish the sentence, not with all the images from Bucky’s file flashing up in his mind. “You deserve some happy memories.”

Jefferson, still just a step into the room with the door in his hand, turned and pulled to close the door.

“Why?”

He froze instantly.

_Wishful thinking? Or… did he really…?_

His heart picked up speed and he dared to look up. Bucky still stood there, unchanged. Only his head was tilted a tiny bit – he only noticed because his hair gave the small movement away.

And there was something in his eyes. Something he couldn’t quite grasp. They were still distant and calculating and dangerous. But something was different.

He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

_He asked you a question, Jefferson!_

_Don’t fuck this up!_

_Answer!_

“Huh?”

_Oh God, was that really the best you could do?_

He stepped back into the room but stayed in the open door, just like before.

His lips twitched as he got a reaction this time, unable to help the silly smile at the mere fact that his brother was actually talking to him.

“Steve believes you really _are_ my brother. I’m… not so sure.”

Jefferson nodded. He knew that already and although hearing it from his own twin hurt, it couldn’t cancel out the joy and hope he was feeling right now.

“Pretending you are who you say you are- why didn’t our father come looking for me? Why didn’t you?”

And there it was. The accusation he’d been waiting for, that he’d expected to come. That he’d silently feared.

His voice shook a bit as he found it again. “We did. God, _we did_!”

All the emotional turmoil of the last days suddenly found his way into his words, all the desperation of a lifetime of searching, it all poured out of him. “We searched for years! But we couldn’t find you.” He huffed out a sad and sarcastic laugh. “We never had a chance at finding you to begin with. You weren’t just transported to another world but to another time as well. Remember all that magical stuff that fell into the opening portal? It somehow created a time portal. You have to believe me, Bucky. I looked _everywhere_ for you!”

He felt winded, as if he’d talked on end without taking a breath. He didn’t care.

Bucky was important now.

And said man watched him with narrowed eyes, watched…

_Wait a minute…_

Confused, Jefferson followed his brother’s gaze downward towards his hands. And not for the first time he realized that he’d pushed his sleeve up a bit and had been rubbing the pendant without noticing.

_The pendant! Of course!_

_Why didn’t I think of that?_

Bucky had to remember the pendant, right? If he showed him that it would proof his story, wouldn’t it?

He had to try.

Jefferson was just about to say something when Bucky’s gaze raised again, his expression closed up as in the beginning. “Leave.”

He blinked.

_What?_

_What happened?_

“I said _leave_!”

The cold and dismissive tone hit him unprepared in his state of hope. Like a slap in the face.

He stumbled back and closed the door, discouraged by that icy scowl again.

For the next ten minutes he just leaned outside the room against the wall, shaking, and stared at the blue pendant.

 

 

 

Absentmindedly his fingers rubbed over a spot on his chest right below his neck as he stared at the ceiling.

_He has the blue stone ring pendant._

Bucky was sure of it. The other’s nervous fumbling had led his gaze to his hands and there it had been, right around his left wrist. He’d only spotted it for a short moment before the man had started rubbing it subconsciously.

And he couldn’t help notice the warm feeling in his chest every time he thought about it.

He still wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

A time portal?

Well, why shouldn’t it be possible to travel through time as well as to other lands?

Still, it sounded far-fetched.

On the other hand, there had been so much emotion in that explanation, too much to comprehend. It would need a good actor to play that part like that yet it was certainly fake-able.

But the pendant?

Sure, that wasn’t hard to get, but how would anyone even know of this?

_If Hydra was able to ascertain that you have a brother from another realm than they should’ve been able to get the information about the pendant as well._

Really?

It’s such a tiny detail. He’d gotten rid of it long before he learned about Hydra. It wasn’t much but he remembered throwing it into the trash can. No context at all, just the feeling of hopelessness and abandonment and anger and the pendant with the leather band falling between eggshells and potato peel. 

He’d observed the man who claimed to be his brother these last two days. Tried to go about it as if monitoring a target. Only every time he watched Steve’s words started echoing in his mind, “You’re twins. You’re connected. What does your heart say?”

It was distracting. And unhelpful.

But he couldn’t shake that feeling – that _pull –_ whenever he studied the other man.

To get that done he’d even left this room more often than he’d preferred.

Bucky didn’t like it out there. He had to be careful and on high alert all the time in that security risk of an apartment. It was too exposed with all that glass, surrounded by other high-rise buildings that offered perfect opportunities for spies and snipers.

Waking up disoriented from drugs in a room with more windows than walls, he’d been sitting ducks. Just ready for the picking. By Hydra, for certain, and whoever else was after him as well.

No, he’d picked this room here for a reason. Two reasons to be precise.

The next high-rise buildings on this site of the tower were far enough away to make it difficult for a sniper and the lower buildings didn’t offer the right angle. But most importantly, the windows at the area of the bed were tinted which – together with the cover of the shelf – allowed for a safe area, however small it may be.

Nevertheless, watching Jefferson had at least brought some clues.

The other man seemed to feel uneasy here. He was nervous and restless. Twitchy. And tired. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes he was having trouble sleeping. It could be because he was locked up here by this Stark guy as well. Or it could be because he wasn’t succeeding in his mission of gaining his trust.

He remembered him having a nightmare back in the infirmary. Mumbling something about “getting it to work”. That would speak for the impostor theory.

His talk with Steve the other day also hadn’t been helping, really. Jefferson’s story could be true. Or it could all be one big elaborate lie of a Hydra agent.

_The blond entered the room after knocking, a plate and a glass of soda in his hands._

_“I brought you dinner. That doesn’t mean that I’m giving up hope that you’ll join us in the kitchen some day. Just so you know.”_

_It was already dark outside and the lights on, so he’d sat down on his bed to not be on display, for everyone to see from afar. He placed the plate on his lap and the glass next to him on the bedside cabinet._

_A sandwich. Again._

_He wasn’t complaining, just noticing. The first days there had been cooked meals with meat and vegetables. These last days it had changed to simple food like macaroni with cheese and sandwiches. He didn’t really care, but the cooked stuff had somehow tasted like more than just nourishment._

_Bucky looked up from his food at Steve who’d sat down at the foot of the bed. He always stayed and they talked. It felt good. Familiar._

_“How did you find me?“_

_One of Steve’s eyebrows climbed up his brow. “The apartment isn’t that big, you know? And you’re kind of hard to miss, so…”_

_“That’s not what I meant.”_

_A sigh. “Sorry. Rumlow found us when we were looking for you. Something he said made us believe that he knew where you were, so we started looking. Followed the clues. In the end it was the pendant that led us to you.”_

_Before he knew what he was doing his hand was at his neck, rubbing the spot where the pendant of his neckless had rested a lifetime ago._

_Steve’s eyes were following the movement, a knowing look on his face._

_Bucky was still puzzled. The pendant led them? There were only two explanations and one of them wasn’t an explanation at all. Not in this case._

_“With magic?“ he asked anyway._

_“With magic, yeah.” Steve laughed and shook his head. “I still can’t believe I’m saying this. Don’t ask me to explain ‘cause I really don’t know anything about that stuff, but it certainly looked like magic to me.”_

_He frowned, the food on the plate forgotten for the moment. “That doesn’t make sense. Nothing about those pendants was magical. They were just stones.”_

_The only remaining explanation was that Jefferson had already known where to look for him and had only played an act when…_

“AAAHHHHH!”

_Steve!_

He was up and at the door in a second, every cell in his body thrumming with a deeply ingrained worry for the blond. He couldn’t really explain it but after everything he’d been able to piece together about their past it possibly made sense after all. But that was a matter to contemplate another time.

Without a noise he pulled his door open and peeked into the dark hallway. Light shone through the crack under the door to his right: the master bedroom Steve shared with the other man.

He tiptoed down the hall on his naked feet, ready to make full use of his moment of surprise, when he heard Steve’s voice from inside.

“Stop apologizing and talk to me, Jefferson. Something’s eating you and I’m not willing to watch it any longer.”

_Steve is okay._

_It’s the other guy._

So, a nightmare then.

“I- I can’t sleep,” sounded the reluctant and shaking voice of the impostor.

There was a soft sigh. “That much is pretty obvious.”

Bucky relaxed again. Steve was in no danger so he could go back to his musings.

Except…

Maybe he should stay and listen. It could tell him more about the man who pretended to be his brother. Maybe, if he was unaware of his presence he’d give something away.

That’s what he chose to believe at least, unwilling to acknowledge the knot of unease deep in his belly at hearing the distress in Jefferson’s voice.

In the end it was Steve who made the decision for him to stay right here and eavesdrop with his next question.

“Is this about Rumlow?”

He froze at the mentioning of that name.

The man who’d been there when Pierce had ordered him to be wiped – he didn’t remember it, but Rumlow had bragged about it with enough glee that he knew it to be true.

The man who’d managed to find him and overpower him and he still had no idea how he’d done it.

But he knew one thing: he hated that man.

Rumlow was the embodiment of a Hydra soldier. 

“That, too. It’s… this sitting around with nothing to do- it’s driving me crazy! I can’t…” A loud hissing noise followed that turned into something between a sigh and a sob. “He’s always there, Steve. Always.“

Whatever this was, he had to admit that the man sounded pretty convincing.

Soft footsteps could be heard from within the room, followed by Steve’s voice, “Rumlow?”

“Every time I close my eyes, he’s there, taunting me. And I pull the trigger. But I end up killing you instead. Or Bucky. Or-,“ his breath hitched and his voice broke, “or Grace.”

Mumbling followed. Bucky knew it was Steve who was talking but he couldn’t make out the words. In his mind’s eye he saw them sitting on the bed next to each other, their heads touching.

His jaw clenched at the unbidden image. The sudden sting of jealousy was unexpected.

He shook his head to clear it and focused on the information instead.

_So Jefferson wants to kill Rumlow in his dreams but isn’t succeeding._

“I hate him _so much_!” Jefferson declared with venom.  “The way he talked about Bucky. What he _did_ to him. And to you! And I’m glad he’s dead, but…”

_Rumlow is dead? What?_

“But you’re afraid what killing him has made out of you.”

_WHAT?_

_Jefferson killed Rumlow?_

_No, that’s impossible._

_It can’t be._

A snort sounded inside the room. Derisive. “A murderer. That’s what it makes me.”

“No, Jefferson,” Steve objected, “it makes you human. And no less of a good man than before. Rumlow was a ruthless man. Don’t give him that power over you. Don’t let him win like that.”

Bucky just stared at the closed door. As he couldn’t distinguish anything else for the next minutes he snuck back into his room and sat down in his bed. Now even more unable to sleep than before.

Rumlow was dead.

He’d wanted to get rid of him himself, get rid of another piece of Hydra that had controlled him. He’d wanted to get revenge for leaving him trapped like that. But most of all he’d wanted to know how he’d managed to overpower him in the first place.

_Damn it! You’ll never get your answers now!_

But a part of him was relieved that Rumlow was out of the picture.

Killed by Jefferson.

A man who seemed incapable of such a feat. Who had trouble coping with what he did.

_The way he talked about Bucky. What he did to him. I hate him so much._

He couldn’t seem to shake these words.

And Steve was there when Jefferson had done it. He knew what had happened.

His Hydra agent idea had just vaporized. Hydra was without scruples but killing off their own man for a ruse? One of their best soldiers?

No, they wouldn’t go that far.

_But if Jefferson isn’t…_

_Is it possible…_

_Is he actually the real thing? Is Steve right and they were telling the truth? No matter how ludicrous it sounded?_

_Is he really my brother?_

His fingers found their way back to his neck, rubbing the spot where the pendant had been a long, long time ago. And the warm feeling fluttered again in his chest.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know why but a part of me seems to enjoy torturing Jefferson in any way possible... I'm a mean person... a really mean person...
> 
> Also:  
> I almost forgot, but last time I offered some tiny spoilers for the upcoming chapter in the notes section. Before it's too late already I guess I'll bring that tradition back up again, although a bit different.  
> No spoilers per se, but I'll give you the title of the following chapter. A small appetizer if you want ;)
> 
> So, this will await you tomorrow:  
> Part Two: Insecurity - Attack


	7. Part Two: Insecurity - Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson and Bucky are alone.  
> The confrontation was overdue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm away the rest of the day you'll get the chapter a bit sooner than usual.

**Part Two: Insecurity**

Attack

 

There was nothing to gain by hiding out in his room.

He kept up a series of rigorous workouts to keep the unease at bay and to kill the time. His endless training sessions were seared into his brain as if those memories had never been taken from him. Maybe they hadn’t. He remembered keeping his body in tip-top fighting shape – he wasn’t sure when but he gathered it must have been between missions. Or between his times in the cryo-unit. Apart from fulfilling his missions, from fighting and killing, it was the only thing he truly remembered that he’d done, that he was good at that didn’t hurt anyone. And the familiar moves soothed his agitated mind. Gave him time to think or numb his thoughts with exhaustion if he doubled his efforts.

But in the end it could only keep him from acknowledging the truth for so long.

Jefferson _was_ his brother.

The chances against it were slim. Not with everything that spoke in his favor: the pendant, his emotions, killing Rumlow, knowing about the potions that fell into the portal and of course his appearance.

He knew it was true.

He’d known it – _felt it_ – the whole time, but he’d refused to believe it. Refused to give in to the hope, to listen to his heart. Because it made him vulnerable. Even more so than he already felt since breaking free of Hydra and realizing what they’d done to him. What they’d taken from him.

But there was no denying it anymore.

Whenever he actually left his room – he mostly kept to the hallway or the bathroom – and their paths crossed in the hallway they stopped and looked at each other, pausing, unsure, and then Jefferson would continue on his way with a sad sigh. And each time Bucky ached.

He remembered the connection they’d once shared, the close bond that had accompanied them throughout their young lives. And he longed for that connection more than anything, feeling its loss so deeply ever since he started remembering his childhood again.

But he had no idea how to get it back.

The man who now shared this apartment wasn’t the kid he remembered. He was a stranger. Just like himself. So much had happened. Had torn them apart for decades.

How do you build on after that?

How do you get that connection back?

_Not by avoiding him. That’s for sure._

It was easier with Steve in some ways. Although he barely remembered anything specific Steve didn’t _feel_ like a stranger. But Steve wasn’t here.

Stark had taken him away, had asked his help for some mission in Venezuela. Steve had been very hesitant to leave. In the end his sense of duty had won. So he’d dressed up and said goodbye to Bucky just when Jefferson had left the living room and entered the hallway.

_Wide blue eyes took in the blond from head to toe, from the pulled back mask of his uniform over the shield to his boots. They danced with merriment and he almost choked trying to keep from chortling. A pretty pathetic effort._

_“So… Captain America… you’re not one for sublety, huh?”_

He had to admit that he liked that amused and more light-hearted version of his brother. It had been the first – and only time so far – that he’d seen him laughing.

Maybe because it was the first time that he could see something of that spirited young boy he remembered.

Bucky refused to think about it any longer. It was time for action.

He found Jefferson in the kitchen. There was no door between hallway and kitchen, just an open entry. So he could see him even from outside the room, standing there next to the counter with a mug in his hands. Right in front of the giant wall of glass.

_Fool!_

Whatever he was looking at out there he was either completely transfixed by it or seeing nothing at all, deeply in thought. And obviously he was oblivious as well.

_What is the idiot doing there?_

It felt as if someone had thrown a lever or something. From one moment to the next he wasn’t an unsure Hydra experiment that had no idea how to talk to his brother. No, he was all determination and confidence now. He knew what to do. He was on a mission.

Keeping to the inner wall on his left he hurried through the room in few quick and noiseless strides, ducking behind the counter as soon as he reached it. There were two positions he needed to worry about the most, one he could maneuver around, the other one he’d have to face up to.

All of this was second nature to him, had been ingrained into him for decades now.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was seeing his brother in a position like this.

_The man’s hand was wrapped around Jeff’s wrist like a vice, shaking him as he shouted in his face._

_Without thinking it through he grabbed some stones from the floor and stepped around the bush he’d been hiding behind. He gave no warning, merely biting his lip in anger and aimed. The stone hit the man against his cheek._

_He cried in pain and surprise and let Jeff go who fell to the floor._

_Bucky threw again. This time hitting his shoulder._

_“Keep away from my brother!”_

_The man finally spotted him. Furious, he started towards him, but Bucky threw the biggest stone he had with all the strength he could muster. And hit the man’s horse’s rear._

_It neighed loudly and started running._

_The man cursed vehemently, threw him a murderous glance and finally hurried after his horse._

_And Bucky ran to Jeff’s side._

Jefferson hadn’t noticed him.

_Foolish and inattentive. How had he survived this long?_

With a quick motion he lunged forward, using his pretty useless metal arm to cover his head and grabbed the other man’s upper arm. He yanked him aside and against the nearest wall – which wasn’t a real wall but the fridge and the cupboard next to it – where Jeff banged against it with a surprised outcry. The mug crashed against the floor, spilling its steaming contents against the window on its way before it shattered on impact.

Bucky ignored it. Instead he quickly placed his left arm across Jefferson’s chest and shoulders to keep him in place. His right hand pressed against the fridge right next to his brother’s head.

_Subject in perfect position for easy kill._

_That’s not your mission._

_STOP! STOP IT!_

_That’s not what you intended!_

_You’re not a weapon. You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re a human being and this is not a “subject” but your own brother!_

He shook his head against the trained and programmed thought processes of the asset. He wasn’t theirs to command. Not anymore.

That’s when he felt it. The rapid movements of heavy breathing against his arm. Immediately he fixed his eyes on the man in front of him.

Jefferson stood pressed against the fridge, his hands raised as if he wanted to defend himself yet they merely _hung_ there, unmoving in mid-air. In fact, apart from his breathing he was frozen to the spot, not moving a single muscle.

Bucky frowned before he saw the fear in the other man’s eyes, the slight twitching of his jaw muscles. And he felt how strained the hectic, shallow motions of his breaths were against his arm.

_You’re crushing him!_

Instantly he recoiled a few inches, taking his arm away but letting it hover between them.

Jefferson blinked, sinking down a bit as his body sagged against the wall, but his eyes never left him. One of his hands immediately shot up to his neck, covering it. The hand was trembling.

_I’ve never touched his neck._

_Curious._

This hadn’t been his intention. At all.

So when he saw the fear in those blue eyes slowly abating to apprehension he felt the need to explain himself. “Don’t stand so close to the window.”

His brother’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion as he tried to straighten up and bring some more distance between them. He sagged again for a second, blinking. Then faced him. There was no understanding at all in his face.

“It’s too exposed,“ he added quickly and moved his arm – Jefferson flinched – to indicate two directions through the window. “Those two buildings there. Perfect for snipers.”

Jefferson’s trembling stopped, his face grew strangely lax. He blinked again and shook his head for a second as if fighting dizziness. “You were- protecting me?”

Bucky merely nodded.

Did he think he’d wanted to attack him? He’d be dead already if that had been his intention.

“Excuse me, Sirs. Might I suggest you take your conversation to the living room? Immediately.”

Just like the last time the voice gave him a start, made him almost stumble. He realized that he felt strangely lightheaded all of a sudden.

_Something’s not right._

_What’s going on?_

“What?” Jefferson mumbled, sounding woozy.

“The kitchen and hallway are currently flooded with a knock-out gas,” the voice explained.

Bucky didn’t wait a second longer, reacted actually even before the words “knock-out gas” were spoken. “Flooded” was indication enough.

He grabbed Jeff’s arm and pulled him along around the counter. The sliding door to the living room opened even without him activating the sensor. His brother stumbled along, sagging every now and then. Immediately after they entered the doors slid shut again.

Jefferson was swaying next to him. He stretched out his hand towards the bookshelf to his right to steady himself as he shook his head against the dizziness.

Bucky took a deep breath. And another. Three breaths later the slight fuzzy feeling in his head was gone again. Making room for his anger.

His muscles tensed, nonetheless he was careful to keep his brother upright and to not harden his grip so he wouldn’t hurt him.

“Why?” he growled, demanding an answer from their bodiless prison guard.

“According to my protocols I initiated counter-measures in regard to your violent behavior towards Mr. Jefferson. It seems I have misjudged the situation. Please accept my sincere apologies.”

It took him a moment to process.

The program acted on Stark’s orders and had tried to protect Jeff from him. It had tried to keep him from harming anyone. And he could imagine how his approach must have looked like. His brother’s fear had been the best indicator for that.

Still, he wasn’t sure what to think.

He was glad that someone else was looking out for his brother as well.

But this felt just like another kind of control. Like being a rat in some scientist’s labyrinth, constantly watched and their behavior controlled.

He didn’t like it, but he’d lived with worse.

For now Jeff was important. He was a normal human being and therefore more affected by the gas.

_Knock-out gas. Idiots!_

_If I’d wanted to hurt him I would’ve had plenty of time. Especially since it knocks_ him _out first._

With a clear head again he led Jeff towards the couches at the far end of the room and placed him close to the wall on the first one. His hand lingered on his shoulder.

“Hey? You with me?”

His brother nodded a bit sluggishly. He pressed his eyes close before he opened them wide and blinked a few times, breathing deeply the whole time. He put his hands up in what looked like a dismissive wave.

“’m alright,” he mumbled. His voice sounded clearer than before.

Bucky left him alone for a moment and headed back to the counter in the corner. He searched the eerily empty looking bar for a glass – one would expect an ensemble of alcoholic beverages on top but there wasn’t – and something to drink. He found bottles and cans with colorful names and slogans in the small fridge, all of them seemed to hold non-alcoholic drinks. In the end he opted for a club soda. He went back, wary eyes constantly checking the windows and beyond. The window front of the living room wasn’t as wide as in the kitchen but it was still way too exposed. But that couldn’t be helped right now. There was nowhere they could take proper cover in the room and nowhere they could go with a hallway full of gas.

_Well, I could, but I don’t want to take Jeff out there again._

“Here.”

He knelt down and held the glass in front of his brother who took it and drank it in one go. A quick observation told him that he looked better now. Still shaken but no longer disoriented.

Jeff slowly lowered the glass, his blue eyes scrutinizing him.

“You got me out of there,” he stated. Nonplussed. “Thank you.”

Gradually the confusion and disbelieve in Jeff’s eyes made room for a tender kind of warmth. Just looking at it made his throat close up, so he used the first distraction possible to avert his eyes when his brother placed the empty glass at the edge of the couch.

Bucky’s eyes followed the movement only to spot it again. The fleck of blue against his wrist. He’d completely forgotten about the pendant for the moment, but now, looking at it again, he wished for the soft weight against his chest where his own had once resided.

Swallowing hard he didn’t even realize that he reached for it until his fingers closed around Jeff’s wrist. His thumb stroked softly against the stone, smooth and warm from contact with his brother’s skin. Feeling it with his own fingers… there was no doubt left at all.

_Oh my God…_

He bit his lip, the enormity of it almost overwhelming all of a sudden. Slowly he looked at his brother again, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. Transfixed he held that gaze. And everything around them seemed to grow quiet. And unimportant.

Bucky couldn’t explain it. The strange tension between them.

Kind of expectant. Almost vibrating.

His mouth was dry as he spoke, “Tell me what happened… after I was… gone.”

 

 

 

Jefferson just blinked, still distracted by the peculiar atmosphere between them.

“Um- well- sure,” he stammered.

The dizziness was only just abating and he still couldn’t wrap his mind around what had just happened.

One moment he’d sipped tea worrying about Steve, hoping he was safe on that mission, and the next he was attacked from behind. And before he even had a chance to comprehend in his panicked state that Bucky had tried to protect him in some strange way he’d started to feel woozy due to a gas Jarvis had obviously used to knock-out Bucky.

_Well, that didn’t work out so well, did it?_

And now, saved twice by the man he’d wanted to talk to for days, he suddenly found himself in this strange electric moment, faced with the prospect of everything he’d been hoping for yet feeling completely unprepared and out of his depth.

If he hadn’t been sitting down already he was sure his legs would be shaky as hell right now.

His brother was finally talking to him. Had sought him out even.

_He tried to save me._

_He_ did _save me._

Jefferson licked his suddenly dry lips and watched as Bucky stood up. He glanced towards the picture window, his eyes darting nervously from one side to the other. Overall he seemed unsure what to do next.

_I wish there were curtains._

Although nothing about this had happened the way he’d hoped – or expected – he’d take anything he could get if it meant that he could finally _be_ with his brother. Out of his depth or not.

If only there were blinds of some kind. Bucky obviously couldn’t relax in a place as open as this one – he still had some trouble with it himself. He wondered if it was because Bucky was afraid of being followed or watched – or killed – by Hydra – _fuck, could they do that? –_ or if the sniper was just so deeply ingrained into him that he felt exposed.

It made so much sense now. Why he barely came out of his room. Why he chose the guestroom in the first place.

_Why didn’t I think of that before?_

He wished there was a way to make him feel more secure. More at ease. Not just for this conversation but in general.

But how…

His eyebrow climbed up his brow as an idea came to his mind. Their electronic prison guard.

Steve had assured him that it was friendly. He wasn’t sure if anything programmed by Stark could match that description. It had just attacked them with gas after all.

_But only to keep you safe. To stop what looked like an attack._

And the entity had conceded a mistake.

Nonetheless, that reminder that they were under constant surveillance sent shivers down his spine. With a conscious effort he pushed that unease away for the moment and concentrated on the important things at hand.

_Just treat him like a person. A butler if you will._

Maybe he should follow Steve’s advice.

_What was that thing’s name again?_

“Um,” he really needed to stop with the stuttering. “Jarvis?” he asked, unable to keep his uncertainty and skepticism out of his voice. Bucky’s head snapped back to him, frowning.

“Yes, Mr. Jefferson? If you want to inquire an update on the situation, the air purification in the hallway and kitchen will be finished in approximately 18 minutes. I’m sorry for any inconvenience I caused.”

Caught off-guard he closed and opened his mouth like a fish, looking pretty stupid without a doubt. That program actually sounded sorry. Was that even possible?

“Um, thanks. I guess. But not what I wanted to know. Are there- are there any kinds of shutters to those windows by chance?”

“No, there are not.”

What a stupid question. They were in a high-tech building if he’d ever seen one. The whole outer walls consisted of glass. Where should there be shutters?

“But I could darken the windows if you prefer to keep out the light. Or I could turn them opaque if you wish to be unseen.”

Bucky looked just as unprepared for that answer as he felt.

The incorporate voice could do that?

“Turn it opaque,” his brother said brusquely in a commanding tone. And Jefferson quickly added, “Please.” Although he wasn’t sure why. Jarvis wasn’t a real person after all.

“As you wish, Sirs.”

And at once the glass lost its transparency, just like that. Just like magic.

There was still light coming in yet it was impossible to make out anything on the outside.

He could see Bucky relax immediately. Then he turned and sat down on the other couch opposite him.

Jefferson nervously rubbed his neck. He’d wanted to talk but just like last time when he’d confronted Bucky in his room he had no idea what to say or how to do this. And the fact that what he’d asked for wasn’t exactly pretty wasn’t helping either.

His brother had enough problems on his mind as it was; he really had no interest in putting more strain on him.

“Alright, well- father started looking for you until he- couldn’t anymore. Mother was- she wasn’t the same afterwards…” He struggled through the sentences, halting every few words, not knowing how to phrase them. He was almost relieved when Bucky was having none of it.

“Stop it,” he growled. “I want to _know_! The truth! I don’t need coddling.”

He blew up his cheeks and released the air slowly. And nodded.

“Alright, fair enough.”

This time he faced Bucky as he spoke, intent on gauging his reaction. And this time he left nothing out. To his surprise he found that it was easier than he’d thought.

“Mama found me sobbing in the wreckage of the room. She was beside herself with shock and worry. She ran to Papa immediately. He was livid. I remember him shaking me to get answers. After that he took the hat and went looking. He never stopped. Mama couldn’t live with the loss. She grew distant and irritable.”

“What about you?”

Jefferson huffed out a pained laugh. “I cried for days. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. Afterwards I became reckless and daring, threw myself into fights, aggravated and irritated everyone around me. I guess I wanted to make people mad at me so they’d punish me. Kind of as punishment for failing you.”

Jefferson dropped his gaze to the floor readying himself for the blame he knew would come. It was his fault after all. He’d failed Bucky. He knew it and Bucky had to know it, too. He just couldn’t look him in the eyes when his brother confronted him with it.

But no words followed. Just an expectant look when he dared to glance up again, one that told him to go on.

Confused, he did so.

“Papa was so intent on his search that he didn’t take on work anymore and Mama’s trinkets didn’t sell _that_ well. Soon we barely got by at all. After a few years Papa came home sick. Some illness from another land, the healer had never seen it before. He died pretty quickly after that. From then on it only got worse. Losing him as well made Mama even bitterer than she’d already been and it turned me into a loose cannon. I didn’t dare thinking about you because I knew when I would start I wouldn’t be able to stop again. And I wouldn’t have been able to take it.”

He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, too agitated to sit back relaxed.

“Few years later we got into a big fight, most likely about money. It was always about money these days. She got really angry and threw me out. Said it was all my fault. That if we had to play with that hat, by all means, I should’ve at least saved you. Then Papa wouldn’t be dead and she’d still be happy. That I’d destroyed the family. And that she didn’t want to see my face ever again. She threw father’s hat after me, said I should take that cursed thing out of her sight.”

His voice faltered a bit. Taking a deep breath he rubbed his face with his hands. He’d only ever shared this once. With his lovely Priscilla. They’d lain in bed together and she’d held him against her.

_And now she’s dead, too._

“She was wrong.”

“Huh?” He startled. Hadn’t expected a reaction since Bucky had only seemed to listen with an air of indifference about him. But as he looked at him now, there was a frown on his face and something like pain glistened in his eyes. Though he couldn’t be quite sure with his brother’s eyes in the shadow of his hair like that.

“It was my idea to play with the hat. And I was the one who threw it on the floor like father always did. I was the one who activated it.”

“I should’ve held on to you. But I was too afraid,” Jefferson offered with vehemence.

“Of course you were. So was I. We were just boys.”  Bucky tilted his head a bit. “And you would’ve never been able to hold me.”

“So? Then we would’ve both fallen in. At least we would’ve been together that way. God, I- I should’ve jumped in after you anyways.”

Now his brother leaned forwards, mirroring his position to scrutinize him with that calculating look of his. It made him uncomfortable.

“Why are you so hell-bent on blaming yourself?”

What kind of question was that?

“Because it is…” he started, anger coloring his voice only to fade away before he could say “my fault.”

_Yes, Jefferson, why are you?_

_Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? For someone to tell you that it wasn’t your fault. To take the pain and responsibility of your guilt away._

For his whole life he’d felt guilty for what had happened that day. His father had thought so as well. He’d never said anything, but Jefferson had seen it in his eyes. And his mother had screamed it to his face.

_And now Bucky is sitting here with you and telling you exactly what you’ve always wanted to hear. So why aren’t you happy? Why can’t you accept it?_

It wasn’t that easy.

He’d lived with that burden for so long it had become a part of him. He had no idea how to let it go anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Or if he wanted to.

He must look like a fish out of water with his mouth opening and closing, lost for words.

Bucky studied him, clearly intrigued.

“Where did you go?”

_What?_

It took him a moment to realize that he was referring to his story. “Oh that- no, um- nowhere at first. For a long while I just sat there, stunned, with that damn hat in my hands. It’d been years since I’d last seen it and it was the first time since that day that I actually touched it. And it brought everything back with a vengeance. Everything I tried to push away from me. My sorrow, my grief, my loneliness. Thoughts of you. I hated that hat. But that day I swore to make it right again. To succeed where Papa had failed.”

He stretched his shoulders and neck a bit, mostly just because he needed a few moments to gather himself.

“I learned pretty fast that it wasn’t that easy and that determination wasn’t everything. I searched for years without a lead. I started to take on some jobs no one else wanted. Started thieving and earned myself a name. Neither the dangers nor the riches could fill that hollow in my heart, but I stopped looking for you anyway. I’m sorry, brother, but I couldn’t take the pain anymore.”

He looked away in shame.

It was surprisingly easy to tell the truth – at least to Bucky – even though much of it wasn’t pretty or painted him in a bad light. That wasn’t important here. They’d never lied to each other when they were young. And even though the man in front of him was practically a stranger it felt so damn right to open up to him.

But talking about this, about a pain that had lain buried for such a long time, it was a challenge nonetheless.

“Neither could I.”

Jefferson blinked in surprise. He looked up. Bucky had placed his chin on his hand, the metal one just dangling over his knees, and still eyed him intently. He’d been right before, there was pain in those blue eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I stopped believing anyone would come for me. I even threw away the pendant.”

_You remember? You actually remember?_

He’d just thought Bucky would remember the outlines, the important facts or something. But this was specific and from a time when he already knew Steve.

_It’s a start! A wonderful, wonderful start!_

They were silent for a while as Jefferson tried to wrap his head around the fact that he wasn’t the only one who’d given up hope. Until Bucky’s quiet voice broke that silence.

“How come you’re here now? In this world? How come you found me in that building when you’ve given up searching for me?”

_Today’s conversation isn’t going to get any easier, is it?_

“That’s- quite a long story.”

Bucky sat up straight and cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve got plenty of time.”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “True enough.”

Jefferson leaned back and sank into the cushions. True, speaking about these things wasn’t easy and yet, just talking with Bucky he could finally feel the restless tension leaving his body.

“Well, I was brought here through a curse…”

And so he went on with explaining the happenings in the Enchanted Forest that led to the Dark Curse, mostly surrounding Snow White and Regina – at least the things he knew about it. To not make it more complicated than it already was he left anything regarding himself out, apart from his involvement in turning Regina to the dark side. The rest wasn’t important to the big picture anyway or to grasp the workings of the curse. Instead he mentioned the 28 years in suspension and the coming of the savior who broke it in the end. The struggles of finding their way in this world, being transported back to the Enchanted Forest only to end up back here certainly were a story for another time. So he left that out as well and finished with Steve instead.

“And then, one day, Steve came into town, calling ‘Bucky’ after me. My heart almost stopped, believe me. I couldn’t let him leave without making sure. Well, it wasn’t easy to get him to believe my story. But, nevertheless, we left the next day. Together. To look for you.”

He laughed shortly. “That was three weeks ago. Just three weeks!”

His eyes grew distant and he added in a more quiet tone, “Three weeks already without Grace. God, I miss her.”

“Grace?”

The question brought him back to the present, where Bucky leaned back against the couch, head tilted in confusion. “She’s your- wife?”

Jefferson couldn’t help the wide grin that split his lips at that. He couldn’t put a finger on it but something about the way his brother looked at him made him almost laugh.

“No, she’s my daughter.”

And Bucky went still. Startled. His mouth slightly open. Before the corner of his mouth twitched into the most beautiful thing Jefferson had seen since he’d gotten his brother back: the hint of a smile.

“You have a daughter?”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The background information on Jefferson in this chapter is completely my own idea this time. I only borrow his backstory from the graphic novel for the parts involving Priscilla. 
> 
> Waiting for you tomorrow:
> 
> Part Two: Insecurity - Moving Forward


	8. Part Two: Insecurity - Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes to a decision.  
> And Tony's nose is NOT missing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yesterday was all about Bucky and Jefferson.  
> Time to switch back to Steve.  
> And have a look what Tony's up to...

**Part Two: Insecurity**

Moving Forward

 

Steve ached all over by the time he left the quinjet. Getting thrown against a brick wall by an explosion wasn’t his definition of fun. He’d rubbed the worst of the soot from his face and uniform on the way back and longed for a shower right now.

He left Tony with a somewhat strained smile. The other man had been just like always. Chatty, obnoxious, brilliant, never shutting up about some absurd – and typical-Tony – idea about a legion of remote controlled armors. Only today all of it had seemed a bit excessive, even for Stark. As if he was trying to make a point. That things were still normal. As if there wasn’t the fact of Bucky and Jefferson being practically imprisoned in his tower looming over them – something Tony hadn’t mentioned even once.

But this wasn’t something to mull over right now. They had destroyed the small Hydra base and all the weapons in it and made it out alive and unharmed. Well, a bit worse for wear but not really hurt.

So right now his other two friends were of more importance to him.

He hadn’t intended to leave them alone this long – he’d left in the early afternoon and now it was dark already. He couldn’t help feeling a bit anxious. Bucky was still very tense and Jefferson restless and stressed out – although it was a bit better now. Since he’d confronted the other man after his nightmare he finally knew where the problem was and could at least try to help.

Nonetheless, the atmosphere in the apartment was strained. Charged with that strange energy, as if the smallest thing might lead to a massive discharge.

And although Steve hoped for the best he was afraid that leaving them to their own devices might’ve just done that.

He needed certainty. Even before the doors of the elevator closed he asked for an update.

“Jarvis? Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“There was one incident, Capt. Rogers,” Jarvis reported. He sounded a bit off, though.

Not that Steve bothered, distracted by the sudden release of adrenaline into his system. Up until that dreadful words he hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped for some positive news.

He straightened up on instinct and rubbed his arm over his brow, the movement the only admission to his weariness that he was willing to make right now.

“What happened?”

He didn’t dare thinking about the way Bucky had thrown Jefferson against the panorama window.

_Please be alright!_

“I’m afraid the incident was due to an unfortunate combination of circumstances, including my own error of judgement.”

The rest of the elevator ride – and Jarvis’s explanation – proved to be an emotional rollercoaster. But in the end it was the relieve that stuck with him.

“So, they’re alright?”

“Yes, Sgt. Barnes and Mr. Jefferson seem perfectly fine. They are currently in the living room.”

“Both of them? Still?”

“Indeed, Sir.”

That was unusual. But maybe it was a good sign. It was about time that they talked.

Jarvis let him into the apartment – or their “luxury cell” as Jefferson had called it once. Since everything seemed alright he opted for a shower and a change of clothes first.

The tinge of uneasiness and curiosity never left him though. So the shower turned out to be a rather quick affair, leaving him still weary and tense but at least clean again.

In a comfortable shirt and sweats and with his hair still damp he headed towards the living room.

He heard them before he saw them. Soft voices were filtering into the hallway. They sounded very similar but even though he couldn’t make out the words yet he was sure that _both_ of them were talking. Then he heard laughter.

Completely startled he stopped for a moment, the sound so totally off in the usually tense atmosphere of the apartment.

Now he was _really_ curious.

Discreetly he opened the door, wanted to get a feeling for the atmosphere in there and not to disturb them. Bucky’s blue eyes were immediately on him.

_Can’t surprise the master assassin._

The thought felt bitter in his mouth.

But Bucky just looked at him for a moment, recognizing his presence with a barely perceptible nod and the slightest twitch of the corner of his mouth. And that short but intense gaze seemed to hold a message, no matter if intentional or not, “I’m alright. Don’t worry. We’re both alright.” Then he turned his eyes back on Jefferson who was talking at the moment, obviously unwilling to interrupt him.

Bucky was sitting on the left end of one of the couches, in the corner of the room with the walls behind him so that he could keep an eye on everything. Jefferson lounged on the armchair placed between the ends of both couches, his feet drawn up under him and with his back to Steve. Two plates with nothing but crumbs on it rested on the coffee table, as well as two bottles of soda.

And he noticed that the windows were tinted. He could see flecks of light from the outside but he couldn’t make out anything else.

_Why would they…_

Realization clicked into place all of a sudden. There was no time to feel stupid or guilty, though, since the conversation went on right at that moment.

“…It was Grover,” Jefferson stated.

One of Bucky’s eyebrows climbed up. “Grover? I know that name…wait… _the_ Grover? The butcher’s son?”

Jefferson sighed, resigned, and nodded. “Exactly.”

“That beefy guy that killed rats with his bare hands?”

“Yep. I could see the glee in his eyes at finally getting revenge.”

“Wait,” Bucky leaned closer to his brother, a slightly incredulous look on his face, “but not because of that one time in the woods.” Jefferson nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “Still? Come on.”

And he smiled. Bucky smiled. A small one, but it was real.

And Jefferson laughed.

Steve could only watch in amazement.

He’d never seen any of them this relaxed. Not Jefferson and certainly not Bucky – not after finding him again in this century anyway.

They had finally started to talk to each other.

_How? How did_ this _happen?_

He looked at them and felt his muscles tense in anger.

He was angry with himself that the first thing that came to his mind at watching them was “why isn’t he remembering _me_ ”.

Envy grabbed him. Envy and its damn green thorns that pricked his chest from the inside and that made sure that it wasn’t so easily gotten rid of.

His best friend had finally found an essential part of his life again, was reunited with his twin brother after decades of separation. And he was happy for him. And for Jefferson. He really was.

But why did Bucky remember Jefferson, his childhood, all their time together – and even some parts from later on, like missing him – so clearly when he himself and all that they had shared was just- gone?

_Not gone, Steve! It’s still there. It might be only flashes and gut feelings and some few unconnected scenes but it is there._

It wasn’t fair.

It just wasn’t fair.

_Damn Hydra!_

Maybe it would be best if he left them alone. Let the brothers reminisce and get to know each other again. They wouldn’t need him for that. He’d only be in the way.

He was just about to retreat into the hallway again when a voice stopped him.

“Steve.” It was Bucky.

Jefferson turned around, grinning while raising an eyebrow. “You’re back! I was starting to get worried.”

He shrugged and rubbed his neck, a bit unsure how to proceed. “Yeah, took longer than expected. But thanks to Tony’s love for blowing things up Hydra’s got one weapon’s facility less now.”

“Good,” Bucky said with a stern expression.

Steve nodded absently. “Indeed. Um, I better…” He nodded towards the hallway, indicating that he’d go and let them have their privacy.

But he never got to say anything more, let alone act on it. Jefferson was already on his feet, waving him in.

“You hungry? I think there’re some sandwiches left in the kitchen. Wait, I’ll get them.”

And just like that the man left through the other door for the adjacent kitchen. Still a bit baffled by this whole situation he just stared after Jefferson who came back a minute later, a plate with homemade sandwiches and another bottle of soda in his hands.

He reluctantly sat down on the other couch, opposite Bucky, after the former portal jumper indicated for him to sit down already with an impatient nod. Food and drink were placed in front of him.

“I was just telling Bucky of a very unexpected run-in with a- let’s say- rather unpleasant character of our childhood.”

Bucky snorted as he leaned back, fixing Steve. “He forgot to mention that it happened while he tried to steal some valuable and highly guarded magical artifact.”

“Hey,” the man in question looked indignant at Bucky who looked back, eyebrow raised, all innocence. “I _did_ steal it.”

Yes, he did indeed. According to the adventurous tale Jefferson was spinning the next minutes. Steve just listened and enjoyed the food – he had been _very_ hungry and even Jefferson’s sandwiches tasted better than his own.

The sting of thorns was still there in his chest although the feeling of being left out abated slowly.

In the end, they were in this together after all.

 

 

 

The hot water pounded pleasantly onto his shoulders as clouds of steam billowed all around him. Rivers of water, almost too hot to bear, ran down his body, enveloping him with its promise of safety.

Bucky knew that it was stupid but after dreaming of waking up in the cryo-unit he’d needed to banish the memory of the cold from his body and his mind. And it worked. Gradually he started to relax, even closed his eyes to fully savor the feeling of bone-deep warmth.

Regardless of his dream he’d woken to a strange kind of tranquility, something he’d never felt before – or just didn’t remember.

Maybe the overall opaque windows of his room had been the reason.

Maybe it’d been because he’d finally and absolutely admitted to himself that Jefferson _was_ his brother. And he’d finally faced him, talked with him. It hadn’t been the same as he remembered – of course it hadn’t, how could it, they’d been children back then. The other man was a stranger to him, but one he’d actually wanted to get to know. Talking with Jeff had felt good. Right.

And it had made him feel human again. Real. Like a person.

The whole evening with Jeff and Steve had felt right. It hadn’t been perfect, none of them were, and being together, it’d been flawed and incomplete and unfinished, but _right_.

This was nothing like the constant order of Hydra.

This felt real.

Bucky slowly tilted his head back under the spray, letting the water saturate his hair again. A soft and constant – if irregular – rhythm of ‘pings’ accompanied him, the familiar melody of the water against the metal of his arm. One last time he let his hand slide along his body, enjoying the feeling of clean and warm skin under his wet fingers as he rubbed over his chest and the stubble on his face.

He’d started this morning just like all the others before that: early and with a rigorous training in his room. Working up a sweat until his body ached – he’d liked those sessions between missions. The throbbing yet pleasant burning of his muscles had always made him feel alive.

It was that feeling that he craved now. That, and the self-determination. It was his choice now. For a moment he’d thought about taking his morning workout into the yoga room he’d heard Steve talk about once – and seen him come out of, quite sweaty – but had decided against it.

Instead he’d taken the quiet of his room and used his training time to ponder everything that’s changed since yesterday. Everything he’d learned.

His family hadn’t forgotten about him. On the contrary, losing him and searching for him had put a strain on them. One too heavy to bear. In the end all of them had suffered for that childish mistake.

And he’d thought about all the rest as well. It really had all just led to one thing.

It still did.

He wanted his memories back!

He knew from the museum that he’d shared a similar closeness with Steve as he had with Jeff as young boys. And he wanted that back, wanted those memories back, just as he wanted to feel that closeness with his brother again.

He wanted to feel whole again.

And he got the feeling that with both of them at his side it could work. Together they would be able to figure this out.

Bucky shut off the water and opened his eyes, blinking away the last drops of water that still clung to his lashes. He waded through the mist and toweled himself off. The last two weeks had taught him how to efficiently work on his personal hygiene with just one hand at his disposal. He was pragmatic about it. There was nothing he could change about his damaged hand.

Only a surprisingly short time later he left the bathroom in a pair of comfortable jeans and a black t-shirt, his hair still damp against his neck.

He sniffed into the air. Coffee. Freshly brewed.

Barefoot he followed the enticing aroma that filtered out of the open kitchen. As he stepped around the corner he instantly noticed the whitish tint of the glass wall that made it impossible to see through but still let the warm morning light in.

An unfamiliar warmth filled his chest and he had to swallow, suddenly strangely nervous about entering the room. Still, he went on. And the further he got the more he smelled something else, something that went hand in hand with the soft sizzling sound: eggs. Either fried or scrambled. His stomach growled in anticipation, hungry as he was after his morning routine.

He stepped into the kitchen, a room more long than wide, and immediately spotted Steve sitting at the big round table with a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. His gaze was drawn by the many items on the table, though. There was a big bowl of freshly made fruit salad, yoghurt and milk and cereals, a basket with toast, different kinds of jam and a plate with bacon that looked deliciously crispy.

The table was set for three.

The warm feeling in his chest intensified. So did his nerves.

This was unknown territory for him.

Steve was looking up, an inviting smile on his lips and his eyes full of hope.

Jeff wasn’t so reserved. He grinned broadly, his joy and happiness for everyone to see as he carried a frying pan with scrambled eggs towards them.

“Perfect timing!” he announced exuberantly. “Want some?”

Bucky stared at Jeff then at the eggs then at his brother again. He just nodded, a bit overwhelmed.

“We were hoping that you’d join us,” Steve said while Jeff distributed the eggs unevenly between them, with his own portion being significantly smaller than the other two.

He sat down, reluctant at first and a bit uneasy. This felt strange. Unreal. After what he remembered of his time with Hydra and being on the run from them for weeks sitting at a table for a joined breakfast with people who cared about him was- like from another universe.

And oddly domestic.

“Thank you,” he finally managed as Jeff sat down himself after placing a cup of coffee in front of him.

The other two helped themselves to their eggs and grabbed for some toast as well, clearly eager to act as normal as ever. Bucky appreciated it.

Still, he placed his fork back on the table before he’d even tried the eggs. Instead he breathed deeply and faced the others.

“I want to get my memories back. I want to _remember_ ,” he paused for a moment, fighting with his next words. Unsure if he’d ever used them before. They felt completely foreign to him. “Will you help me?”

Both men stopped eating. A muscle in Steve’s jaw jumped.

Jeff rolled his eyes, but Bucky saw brightness there that he tried to hide that way. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Always Buck! Always!” Steve added.

 

 

 

Tony’s eyes were glued to the holographic screen, his head tilted sideways and his brow furrowed in his close scrutiny.

“Play it again.“

“Sir, may I remind you again that this constant video surveillance is a huge invasion of privacy.”

“Shut it already, Jarvis! I don’t care! And now play the damn thing again!”

The video turned back and started anew, showing the kitchen of one very special apartment. Riddle-kid stood at the window while Robocop crept up on him like the assassin he was. He grabbed him roughly and pressed him against the fridge with his metal arm.

“Stop there,” he exclaimed, then singled an area of the feed out by circling it with his index finger. “Increase by factor 15.”

The fearful, almost panicked face of their mystery man filled the whole screen now, the metal arm that pressed against his chest on display as well.

“Tell me again how you decided to _not_ classify this behavior as violent and dangerous?”

“I did treat it as a threat and acted according to protocol, Sir. However, the following interaction proved my assessment to be incorrect.”

Tony snorted. “You fell for that? It’s obvious! He smelled the gas or something. He knew already that you’re watching so he put one and one together and acted accordingly to fool you into backpadeling.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I don’t think Sgt. Barnes is acting.”

He snorted again and jumped from his stool, grabbing for the next best thing in reach which turned out to be a wrench. He played with it, hitting it in a repeating rhythm against his left palm while he paced around his workbench.

He’d analyzed every last second of that incident at least a hundred times. It had started out as everything he’d anticipated – although he’d expected it to happen a lot earlier – only to suddenly turn into a completely different direction. Maybe Jarvis was right to inform them of the gas, maybe he wasn’t. It was done now.

Anyway, he wasn’t pissed at Jarvis. Not really.

He was pissed at that murderer and his damn self-control!

_How am I supposed to prove to Steve what a monster you are if you don’t show your green side!_

Locked up in a place that clearly made him uneasy, constantly on edge and always watched… he’d been sure he would’ve snapped much sooner. But no, instead he hid away in his room and when he finally acted aggressively he reigned himself in within seconds only to go all mushy and caring for the cameras.

The only time he’d really showed his true colors so far Steve had been up here shortly afterwards, trying to explain everything away. Tony hadn’t planned on giving in – of course not, he wanted to prove a point after all and he wanted to get that maniac out of his tower – but he’d been really tired and then Steve had disarmed him with his “you should know about nightmares”-comment.

_Damn you, Rogers. That was a low blow._

This whole thing really wasn’t going as planned. At all. He huffed, frustrated. It wasn’t helping that Steve had been off with him on their mission. No friendly banter, no rallying speech, no companionable slap on the back afterwards.

_What did you expect? You imprisoned his friends._

His palm stung as the wrench connected harder with it than before.

_No, I won’t take that on me! I was lenient. I did him a favor, saved that freak’s life! He should be thanking me!_

He cringed in pain all of a sudden, his left hand stunned and throbbing. Loud clatter pierced the silence as the tool slipped his fingers in his surprise and crashed against the floor.

“FUCK!”

His constantly simmering anger these days burst out of him. He kicked the offending instrument with all his might, sending it skidding through the workshop where it bounced off of DUM-E and slipped beneath the couch in the corner.

Still cursing he rubbed his aching hand with his fingers and turned back towards the screens. He needed something to distract himself from the murderer under his roof.

And who was better qualified for that job than the man who looked like the “groomed but nervous wreck”-version of said killer?

“Anything new on Barnes 2.0?”

“The in-depth search has provided no new information.“

“Hmm, interesting.” Tony crossed his arms and raised one hand to subconsciously play with his beard while he thought. “Run a search on the recordings. Filter for anything significant regarding his person.”

The first few days he’d spent hours sitting here, watching the video feed – and arguing with his obnoxious A.I. about privacy rights – waiting for the assassin to tip his head, to show his true self. But after days of boring talking he’d switched it off and let Jarvis inform him if anything interesting happened. Something that happened not nearly as often as he’d thought, just those two acts of violence and some rather odd pieces of conversation. Like learning that the doppelganger had killed Rumlow. Sure, he’d never met the guy himself and he’d turned out as Hydra so he wasn’t really sorry, but he’d seen pictures of him when he’d searched for his name. That man had looked like a trained killing machine. And _Mr. Mopey_ had killed him?

“Mr. Jefferson is most frequently referred to as Mr. Barnes’s brother. Capt. Rogers even called them twins.”

“Impossible,” he mumbled under his breath.

“He has a daughter called Grace which he infrequently calls. There have also been two calls to a man named Victor. The remaining findings contain questionable references to fairytales.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Spare me with that nonsense.” He’d listened to the whole insane conversation earlier. “Lunatics! Both of them!”

“Sir, the possibility for a psychological cause for two men with no former connection hallucinating along the same storyline with shared memories included is…”

“I know!” he hissed, irritated, then sighed. “I know, Jarvis. I know.“

He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. Frustrated, he got up again and headed for the cabinet next to the couch where he stored the liquor. He poured himself a generous glass of bourbon and gulped down almost half of it in one go. His eyes narrowed when he remembered something. “Alright, just – oh what the hell,” he waved at Jarvis with an elaborate movement of the hand not currently holding the glass, “show me all of the significant key words, sorted by categories. No matter how crazy they sound.”

A few seconds later a new screen popped up, divided in four columns full of keywords and phrases, labeled ‘magic’, ‘fairytales’, ‘personal information Jefferson’ and ‘miscellaneous’ respectively.

Tony’s gaze immediately singled the word out that he was looking for: portal jumper. He remembered hearing it in that strange conversation. Deep in contemplation he pulled his stool close with his foot and sat down, pushing it back a little to get a better view for the big picture. After another sip he put the bourbon on the workbench.

“Okay, Jarvis, stay with me for a moment. Let’s pretend those two nutcases actually aren’t nuts. Or at least not completely. So, we know for a fact that portals are real. And believe me, I know what I’m talking about! So, why not a portal to a different world? A parallel universe or something? It’s not so much different from traveling the realms by bifrost, isn’t it? Okay, regarding to them they were born in a different world than ours, grew up there and one of them was transported here by accident as a child. Jarvis, check the information on Barnes again. Is there anything…”

“Apparently Sgt. Barnes was adopted, Sir. There are no official documents anymore but it is referenced in an interview with his mother. Or adopted mother to be precise.”

_That’s more than coincidence!_

His fingers drummed a frenetic rhythm against the workbench. He was onto something, he could feel it. Like a bloodhound who’d finally sniffed his prey. There was this uneasy feeling, though, of an enormity that lay hidden in fog. He was scratching at something big and part of him wasn’t sure if he should continue.

However, he wouldn’t be Tony Stark if he’d chicken out now. Or if he’d actually reign in his curiosity because of a bad feeling.

No, he was onto something here. So he pushed everything else aside for the moment and dug deeper.

“Barnes is adopted. He could’ve come here through a portal, unable to get back.”

“How are you planning on fitting Snow White and the Evil Queen into your idea, Sir?”

A short grin darted across his lips at Jarvis’s sarcastic tone. His eyes flipped back to the list of keywords, looking for something but he didn’t find it right away.

“Where did Steve find that Jefferson guy again?”

“The place is called Storybrooke.”

“Storybrooke? For real? Okay, hold it, don’t say anything! Is there, by any chance, a place called Storybrooke anywhere?”

“There’s the Storybrooke Preschool Academy in Fort Pierce, Florida, a ‘Storybrook’ in Fort Collins, Colorado, diverse Storybrooke Streets and Avenues throughout the country and one place in Malaysia. Nothing that would fit the description of a small town.”

Tony nodded slowly. He wasn’t exactly surprised to be honest.

“As soon as he calls his daughter again, trace the call.”

His eyes roamed the endless list of completely absurd keywords. ‘Dark Curse’, ‘potions’, ‘savior’, let alone names like ‘Snow White’ and ‘Rumpelstiltskin’. He should look at that stuff and laugh his ass off at the ridiculousness of it all. Instead he couldn’t shake this strange feeling.

“Did he mention any names that are _not_ associated with fairytales?”

As always, Jarvis answered promptly. “Yes, Sir. The names ‘Henry’, ‘Regina’ and ‘Emma Swan’, apart from the aforementioned ‘Grace’ and ‘Victor’.”

“Hey, at least one useful name. Alright, let’s see what we can find on this Emma Swan. Start a search, Jarvis!”

He grabbed his glass again and downed the rest of the bourbon, licking his lips afterwards. His eyes traced the words “Emma Swan” in the “miscellaneous” list. It read “the savior” in parentheses right next to it.

Too lazy to get up he pushed his feet against the floor and used the rolls on the stool to cross the room easily. And with much more fun along the way. He poured himself another drink, swiveled around and navigated his improvised vehicle back again.

Magic.

The word on top of one of the columns constantly drew his gaze.

_“You remind me of my brother, Man of Iron,” Thor laughed and slapped his shoulder, making him almost stagger._

_“Come again?” he hissed, offended at such an insult. “I remind you of a magical glowstick wielding megalomaniac? Have I turned into Voldemort? Is my nose missing?”_

_Like so many other times Thor simply ignored the references he didn’t understand and that Tony loved to use._

_“You consider yourself a man of science, my friend. And you see my brother as a creature of magic. Yet where I come from, they are the same thing. You both use it as a weapon if you have to but mostly you’re just crazily enthusiastic about it.”_

“They are the same thing,” Tony mumbled with a frown.

“Sir, there are some preliminary results on Ms. Swan.”

“Show me!”

Whistling in surprise he sat up straighter. He hadn’t expected that. A news article from 1989, nothing special, nothing more than a small side note, about a seventeen year old girl arrested for possession of stolen goods. A girl with the name of Emma Swan.

“A savior with a criminal record. What have I gotten myself into this time?”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for Part Two.
> 
> Tomorrow:  
> Part Three: Frustration - Good Days and Bad Days


	9. Part Three: Frustration - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They develop a routine...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The style of this chapter is different.  
> In the beginning it was merely intended as a short paragraph but then it got bigger and demanded to be a whole chapter.  
> It will be the only one told in this style, though.

**Part Three: Frustration**

Good Days and Bad Days

 

It didn’t take long for them to fall into a routine. Not the strict, military kind but a comfortable one that allowed them to get to know each other, to tackle the problem of Bucky’s lost memories in a safe and comfortable atmosphere and to fool themselves into a sense of normality. It was an unspoken agreement that they never talked about their “imprisonment”.

Jefferson was used to getting up early, his daughter was attending school after all. Nonetheless, if his nightmares didn’t keep him from sleeping, he was still the last one to get up, unable – and unwilling – to compete with the soldiers’ ingrained military schedule.

While he trudged into the kitchen for a first hot infusion of caffeine and took a shower to wake up and dispel unpleasant remnants of his dreams Steve and Bucky did their training routine in the yoga room.

He’d tried to accompany them once in the beginning, eager to connect with his brother, to learn about this man he’d become. Joining two enhanced human beings for a morning sport session – an insane power mixture of running on the spot, skipping, boxing a punch bag, sit-ups, push-ups and stuff he didn’t even know the names of – had been the worst idea he’d had in a very long time. After that he let them do their own thing and suffered through three days of stiff and sore muscles until he could move properly again.

To each his own. And daily torture sessions even _before_ a cup of coffee- not his cup of tea.

While they went for the shower Jefferson prepared breakfast. He liked that part of the day, eating together, talking about mundane things and maybe their plans for the day. It reminded him of home, of Grace.

Afterwards he’d lounge on the couch in the living room with a mug of tea in his hands and Bucky opposite him – or sometimes next to him – while Steve took care of the dishes, leaving them alone for a while so they could talk, catch up, get to know each other again.

His brother asked about Grace and her mother. Talking about Priscilla hadn’t been easy. It never was. She’d been the love of his life and he’d lost her because of his own arrogance and stupidity.

But he also had questions of his own.

_“Does it hurt?” he asked tentatively, waving a hand in the vague direction of the metal arm, referring to the damaged areas of the forearm and wrist._

_Bucky followed his gaze towards his hand, his simple black longsleeve pushed back towards his elbows. He shook his head. “No.”_

_He rolled his lower lip into his mouth with his upper one, thinking. “Does it bother you? That you can’t move it properly?” His twin had never said anything. Never complained or asked for help._

_Bucky shrugged, a pragmatic expression on his face. “I can’t do anything about it. Not without the proper tools and materials. Even than I’d have no idea how to repair it. I- I think they never trusted me with that knowledge. So, getting into a fuss over it is rather pointless.”_

_He didn’t like the sound of that. Neither the way he spoke about “them” nor his passivity on this. On the other hand, he was right. There was nothing they could do. Well, there was, but Tony Stark wasn’t an option here. Not! At! All!_

_Jefferson leaned a bit closer, raising his hand carefully. He checked his brother’s gaze, making sure that it was okay. When no adverse reaction followed he gently touched his fingertips onto the cool metal above the wrist, tracing the groove between two plates. It felt smooth to the touch and not nearly as cold as he’d expected, just not as warm as human skin._

_He licked his lips, fighting down the feeling of wrongness. Bucky might not have asked for this, but it was part of him now. He should try to accept that as well._

_“Can you feel that?” he looked right into those blue eyes as his fingers kept exploring the metal surface of the arm._

_Bucky nodded softly, the beginning of a warm, but sad smile on his lips. “Yes. Not the same way you do, but… yes.”_

The rest of their morning they usually spent tackling the memory problem quite specifically. The first day they’d just been brainstorming how to go about it and they’d agreed that to start anything they needed to know where they stood. So the next days they sat together in the living room figuring out what Bucky actually still remembered. It had been a bumpy process at the beginning with Bucky clearly uncomfortable. They’d stumbled a lot at their first tries of walking on that fine line where each misstep meant hurting Bucky by pushing too hard.

In the end he was sure that his brother had kept some things to himself.

Jefferson knew that he would have.

Those recallings had been taxing on his brother. Not just because he’d struggled to put all the vague impressions into words but because it had made him relive everything he remembered. Baring oneself like that was never easy and only possible with an underlying level of trust.

Jefferson could see that it hurt Steve to see how much damage Hydra had done. But at least they knew what they were working with now. To be honest, there were more memories there than he’d expected. Sure, for Bucky they often were nothing but vague images and feelings, nothing he could fit into the big puzzle of his life. But in the end they were a beginning. Flashes that allowed little insights into his past and the way his mind worked.

Bucky had agreed to let them know as soon as something else came back as well – which it had now and then, sometimes in small flashes, hard to grasp, but mostly it happened in his nightmares, revealing more memories of Hydra.

From then on they – well, mostly Steve – had tried coaxing his memories back by mentioning significant events. Giving Bucky clues to work with. Names, places, facts and situations that would be linked to strong emotions. Since neither of them had any experience with these sorts of things – and since they couldn’t get a trained psychiatrist in here to work with, they had to make it up along the way. They had no idea if their approach was a good one or a bad one.

In the end they’d only learned that it didn’t work. Nothing Steve mentioned rang a bell. It was obvious that Bucky racked his brain, trying desperately to grasp at something, but it didn’t work that way.

It was frustrating.

So they tried a different approach now. It had been Steve’s idea. One that he agreed on a hundred percent.

Music.

Songs had the ability to impart themselves into memory like nothing else. Not just the way a melody got stuck in your head or that the lyrics of a long forgotten song came back as soon as the first notes reach your ear. No, music was more than that. It enfolded the situation when you listened to it, embraced your emotions and wove everything together into the fabric of your memory, connected for eternity.

And they wanted to use that.

Steve had Jarvis play music from the thirties and fourties, mostly just random pieces, sometimes he asked for a specific song or performer.

So far they’d achieved nothing apart from putting an almost tortured look onto Bucky’s face as he tried to hold onto little flashes of memory that danced around the verge of his perception, just noticeable but out of his reach – at least that’s what Jefferson figured out from his curses.

It was either Steve or himself who put an end to those sessions, never Bucky himself. And each day they got more and more reluctant of starting a new one. But Bucky was hell-bent on getting back what was taken from him. And sometimes it hurt to see that desperation. To see with how little regard for himself he pushed on and on and on.

On some days Jefferson wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just stop this and accept things the way they were.

Afterwards they all needed time to themselves usually. Time to get rid of the exhausting tension, the frustration and the increasing feelings of helplessness.

He preferred the kitchen. Given the chance earlier in life he’d never have chosen cooking as a hobby. But life hadn’t asked for his opinion and he’d realized during 28 years of a cursed existence that had done nothing for his sanity that cooking soothed his mind. It reminded him of spending time with Grace, of her excited eyes when he’d cooked her favorite meal. It still worked. It calmed him down, distracted him and occupied his hands. So he’d gladly taken up the responsibility for lunch – or food in general. Also, he’d tasted the results of Steve’s cooking. He wasn’t keen on repeating that experience any time soon.

Bucky quietly disappeared most of the times. To seek solitude, to contemplate, to try again on his own, Jefferson wasn’t sure. But he was willing to give him the privacy he needed, even if that meant worrying even more. With increasing frequency – and an increasing level of frustration – his brother could be heard in the yoga room, beating up the punching bag.

Since they found him once curled up in his bed with a massive headache Steve made sure to check on him during the hour until lunch was ready. And they urged him to take it more slowly.

Instead of doing just that he’d presented them with the dumbest idea ever: dehydrating himself for a few days to get into that state of delirium again that had seemingly made it easier for his mind to break the barrier of the wipes and access the memories behind.

Damn, he could’ve died the last time and now he wanted to repeat the experience? Voluntarily?

It had taken them days to convince him to drop that plan.

The early afternoon they used for recreation and they’d agreed to refrain from any active tries to awake memories during that period of the day. No questions and no activities that solely aimed for triggering memories.

He wasn’t overly fond of being locked up inside again. Ever since he could remember he’d loved being outside, being active. His lifestyle of constantly being on the move as well as his former imprisonments only added to his restlessness. He longed for a walk, for a strive through nature, for exploring the city below, for fresh air. Anything. So he had to make do. Somehow.

Watching the discovery channel wasn’t the same as being outside but it distracted him. He also started to draw a blueprint of the apartment. What began as something familiar to fight unrest and boredom – like his maps a few years ago – soon gave him an idea. From memory alone he outlined the layout of his house in Storybrooke, each level separately. Planning the redecoration so that Bucky would have a place of his own with his family kept him quite busy from then on. Even though a part of him knew it was just wishful thinking.

His brother on the other hand surprised him. He either walked the apartment room for room, letting Jarvis un-tint parts of the windows to check the adjacent buildings for any signs of spies or snipers or he sat down quietly to read. Sometimes he did it on the couch, but most of the times he preferred the big comfy armchair in the corner of the living room by the wall with the bookshelf. And he didn’t just read anything. No, he explored the science textbooks from the office one by one. Worked his way through topics of his interest with true fascination, mostly technical stuff and physics if he’d interpreted the titles correctly.

Jefferson was wondering if that interest was caused by his line of work for Hydra, born out of necessity or if it had been there before.

Science wasn’t everything Bucky was intrigued by as he had to learn one afternoon.

His brother had lounged on the big armchair, immersed in a book that clearly wasn’t a textbook judging by its dimensions. That’s when he’d spotted the pile of maybe five books next to him on the floor. Books that were hard to ignore: _Grimm’s Fairytales, Peter Pan, Norse Mythology, Anderson’s Fairytales_ and _The Legend of Robin Hood_.

_“What’s that?” he asked, interrupting Bucky’s reading by pointing out the books at his side._

_His brother merely shrugged._

_“Research.” Then lowered his eyes back on the book in his lap only to look up again a second later, a questioning frown on his face. “Did you ever wonder why so many stories from other lands ended up as children’s tales in this one?”_

_“Not really,” he replied rather tersely. “They’re rubbish anyway. They got most of the facts completely wrong.”_

_Bucky shrugged again. “Still, feels like catching up somehow. And they’re- they’re fun. I’m wondering if I’m in one of those fairytales. The boy who fell into a portal.“_

_Suddenly, just for a moment, he saw a five year old Bucky sitting there. That cheeky little boy he’d been once. A smile tugged at his lips. He knew that curiosity all too well._

_“What are you reading at the moment? Maybe I can tell you if you’re wasting your time.”_

_The other man grabbed the open book at the lower end of the spine and held it up with one hand._

_Jefferson froze. His jaw clenched. His eyes fled the cover as if burned, looking at the floor instead._

_Alice in Wonderland._

_“You’re not in this one. I can promise you that.” His voice came out flat, his lips too stiff, too uncooperative to work properly._

_Why that book? Why?_

_He didn’t want his brother to know. Didn’t want…_

_“Okaaay,” Bucky drawled, his tone alone hinted at him being attentive now. “Anyway, the story’s interesting. And Wonderland sounds like a fascinating place.”_

_“It’s a deathtrap!”_

_He hadn’t intended to sound so harsh, he just couldn’t help it. With a lump forming in his throat he turned on his heel and practically fled the room._

Bucky had asked him about it a day or so later at their talks in the morning when no topic was taboo. He’d told him that he’d lost Priscilla in Wonderland, never mentioning his own part in the book. He wasn’t ready for that. And he didn’t want for his brother to know. To look at him differently. To see nothing but the crazy guy.

All the while Steve used those hours in the afternoon with a sketchbook in his lap or his hands. Frowning in concentration, his eyes left the paper every so often as the pencil in his hand danced gracefully over the sheet of paper.

Jefferson hadn’t thought much of it, an unusual hobby for a super-soldier maybe, but Steve was an unusual man. Until he’d looked over his shoulder once, curious. It blew his mind!

There he was, dark grey and white, on the paper, together with his brother. They were casually sitting next to each other on the couch, Bucky raising one eyebrow at him while he himself nursed his cup of tea in his hands, his grin half-hidden behind the cup. That scene had been from that very day. And it looked so damn real.

Steve had acted all bashful, which was cute somehow but completely unnecessary. He was a true artist. A look at some of the other sketches confirmed that even more.

The remaining time until dinner they usually spent doing all the housework that arose. Just mundane things that felt pretty domestic and sometimes even managed to make him forget that they weren’t in this by choice. That this wasn’t just some living community.

But watching Steve ironing or Bucky tackling the dust with a vacuum cleaner was just absurd somehow. The super-soldier and the assassin. Cleaning the house.

Of course he’d taken a few pictures with his phone when they’d paid no attention.

Every few days Steve went outside to go grocery shopping. Jarvis had suggested that he could take care of that if they supplied him with their shopping list. They’d tried it once and it had worked quite well. The food had been brought up in shopping bags and been deposited in front of their door. Nonetheless, neither of them had felt overly comfortable with that option. Telling a computer what you want and then getting it delivered to your door was probably the strangest thing Jefferson had ever witnessed in this world. And although it was practical he itched to go out himself. Bucky didn’t really care where their food came from but Steve also was more comfortable with getting it himself.

That way Jefferson could at least get the second hand experience of being outside through the soldier’s little stories of his grocery adventures.

Later on Steve watched the news and he called Grace every other day and sometimes Victor. To learn the news and proceedings in Storybrooke – it seemed the person behind keeping them all locked inside the town was a ‘Snow Queen’, whoever that was. But mostly he called them just to talk. To maybe get some advice from his friend and to still get the feeling of being part of his daughter’s life.

She’d been pretty ecstatic to learn that he’d found her uncle. Hearing about his condition, though, had made her sad and sympathetic.

_You’ll help him get his memories back, right? Knowing that so much of your life is missing must be horrible for him. You’ll stay with him and make sure he’s okay, yeah?_

_Does he really look just like you?_

But apart from that they always spent their evenings together. Sometimes they just talked, sitting on the couch or around the kitchen table with a drink and some sandwiches. Other times he cooked a proper dinner. Sometimes with their help – they weren’t completely hopeless in the kitchen, well, more or less – and sometimes they just watched him work.

Meanwhile he secretly enjoyed that they acknowledged his superiority in the field.

Who wouldn’t enjoy ordering two soldiers around, making them cut onions and stir tomato sauce.

_“Mmh, this is great Jeff! Where did you learn to cook like that?”_

_He smiled at the compliment from his brother and watched his content face as he put another spoon of pumpkin soup with half-melted mozzarella pieces into his mouth. And if his cheeks felt a tiny bit warmer than usual he didn’t care._

_“Necessity is a good teacher to cover the basics.”_

_“Yeah, I know that first hand,” Steve chimed in, “but this isn’t basics anymore. And the cheese- I’d never have thought of that! Come on, spill your secret!” Steve urged him on good-naturedly._

_He rolled his eyes, reluctant but caving in at Bucky’s interested expression. “Alright, if you really want to know. Poverty. Poverty and a hungry child. They teach you creativity like nothing else. 28 years of a curse with barely anything to keep you from losing your mind will do the rest.“_

_He shrugged, trying to take the sting of bitter truth out of his words with the dismissive gesture. To hold on to the levity of before. It wasn’t really working._

_He should’ve just kept his mouth shut._

And on some nights they’d just lounge in front of the TV and watch a movie. Although he’d vowed to never let Steve select the movie ever again. Ever! One night of screaming colors that reminded him way too much of Wonderland was enough for him. And if he ever had to listen to one more Oompa Loompa sing he couldn’t be held accountable for his actions!

Most of the times Bucky was the first to retire.

Jefferson doubted that he actually went to bed right away although he could certainly use the sleep. The dark circles under his eyes never really left and on some days a haunted look in his eyes accompanied the fatigue that he already radiated. Those days he was withdrawn and quiet or Jefferson could hear the frantic smacks through the whole apartment as he beat the living daylights out of the punch bag again. But sometimes he opened up to them and talked about occasional new memories his dreams brought to light. Sometimes. They weren’t many yet all of them involved his work for Hydra.

He wished he could help. But nightmares were tricky. They didn’t just rob you of your sleep. They followed you during your waking hours, never leaving you until you dreaded to fall asleep again. So you tried to stall as long as possible, robbing yourself of the chance to sleep as well. He knew that just too well.

He only hoped that what they were doing here would help his brother, at least in the long run. Right now his lack of memories seemed to cause as much damage and problems for him as the ones he remembered and the few that came back. Maybe one day – preferably sooner than later – one of their conversations might help him as much as Bucky had helped him.

_“You killed Rumlow.”_

_If he hadn’t just put his tea onto the table the mug would’ve slipped his fingers._

_It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And it came out of the blue._

_Finally he managed to look up, panting a bit, to face Bucky’s quizzical expression._

_“Why?”_

_“How- how do you know?” he stammered._

_“Your nightmares. I overheard you two talking once.“_

Even through the lump in his throat he’d explained it to his brother. Had told him everything about that encounter with the Hydra agent. Talking about it made him relive the whole experience but as soon as he’d started he just couldn’t stop. And strangely enough it had helped. He wasn’t sure why or how only that he’d slept dreamlessly that night. And ever since that day his nightmares haunted him a bit less frequently and Rumlow didn’t always play a role in them anymore.

Established routine or not, of course not everything was running smoothly. Yes, on a good day he could forget that he was locked up and just enjoy the company of his brother and Steve. But there were bad days as well. Some worse than others.

They all had to learn the hard way that the most unexpected things could trigger his brother. It had scared the shit out of him to find himself face to face with the Winter Soldier all of a sudden. Luckily those violent flashbacks hadn’t happened often so far, just once or twice. And Steve had always been close by to prevent the situation from escalating. Bucky always fled afterwards, shaken and ashamed and guilty, refusing to talk to any of them.

He feared those moments. Not because he was afraid his brother would hurt him – which he was, if he’d be honest with himself, because Bucky was trained to kill and he wasn’t sure if he’d snap out of it in time. No, he feared those moments because they made him awfully aware of Stark and the power he had over them. So far Steve had somehow managed to appease the men, but that wouldn’t work forever and he feared that day more than anything else.

Bucky seemed to think that they should be wary of him. But he just couldn’t bring himself to think like that. Yes, he was careful to avoid obvious triggers and to watch out for any signs of behavioral changes. But other than that he acted as normally as possible around him. And so did Steve.

Sadly they also learned that Bucky preferred it that way even if something worked well. Even when he remembered something. Make a fuss about it and he’d grow quiet and withdrawn again. It was frustrating. He wanted to hug him, to celebrate each success, but Bucky was having none of it. And touching him out of nowhere was also a bad idea.

There was one thing, though, he hated more than those violent flashbacks that gave him a glimpse of the killer they’d turned his brother into: the moments he just froze up.

_He placed their drinks on the table just as Steve threw himself onto the couch, legs stretched out and crossed on one of the cushions. It had been a long day, but a good one, and they deserved a relaxing evening. Bucky was still in the kitchen, wiping the table clean after their dinner._

_“Hey Buck, can you take the ice-cream with you?” Steve shouted after him. “And spoons, of course.”_

Neither of them had thought of it.

They really should have.

They’d found him in front of the open freezer, frozen in place. His eyes empty. And lost. And expectant. Then he’d asked them for orders. First in Russian. Then in English. At least Steve had been pretty sure that it had been Russian and they thought that he’d just repeated his question in English after they didn’t react to the other language.

Yeah, he definitely hated those flashbacks more.

After that incident Bucky had set himself to battle the freezer. He was hell-bent on mastering the feeling of cold against his face again without his mind slipping back into the numbness of cryo-freeze.

And for the first time that night it had been Steve who’d needed consoling after a nightmare.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And tomorrow:
> 
> Part Three: Frustration - You Could Kill a Man Like That


	10. Part Three: Frustration - Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys relax and enjoy a nice evening together.  
> Maybe Jefferson relaxes a little bit too much... maybe not... ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first part of this chapter ties in to the last one but I had to put it here, otherwise I'd had one giant chapter and a tiny one.
> 
> Well, it's a good contrast...
> 
> Have fun (this time there will actually be a part where it's possible to HAVE fun *g*)!

**Part Three: Frustration**

You Could Kill a Man Like That

 

Sometimes, though, there were days when all of it just got too much.

For each of them.

Days when Bucky was irritable and clearly hadn’t slept at all. When he trained with relentless fierceness until his muscles quivered and he could barely breathe anymore. Or when he vanished for hours in the shower only to come back out again with his skin a fiery, angry red.

There were days when Steve almost drowned in guilt. Guilt over never searching for Bucky after his fall, over being the only one able to leave the stifling atmosphere of the apartment. Over the freezer incident.

There were days when Jefferson felt trapped. When the task at hand seemed impossible and the silent mantra of “get it to work” followed him everywhere he went.

But the worst day so far had been the day he’d witnessed the extent of Hydra’s power over their subjects with his own eyes.

_“Hey, wake up.”_

_Someone was gently nudging his shoulder, dragging him out of a deep and for once blissfully dreamless sleep. Disoriented, he blinked his eyes open against the exhaustion and drowsiness that weighed them down. A face was hovering above him, with short, light hair._

_“Go to bed, Jefferson. It’s way more comfortable than this.”_

_Again he blinked blearily. Only now did he realize that he was in the living room. The lights were dimmed down to a minimum, filling the room with a strange twilight. He must have fallen asleep on the couch._

_It didn’t surprise him. Not really. It had been a tiring day. Bucky had been quiet and withdrawn ever since morning. Moving about like a wary yet absent-minded ghost, clothed in an abundance of layers as if to fight a cold that wasn’t there. Treating him as normal as possible, being helpful and supportive without being patronizing or pushy or clingy, being unobtrusive and positive had been taxing. No, more than that. It had depleted him. When Bucky had retired early that evening, taking his bowl of pasta with him to eat in his room, his mind had been so damn exhausted that it must have shut down and opted for the chance at rest. Right there on the couch._

_Steve was right, though. The bed was a better choice._

_Jefferson got up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. With a nod and something that was originally intended as a grateful smile he trudged towards the door and into the dark hallway. After the twilit living room his eyes had no problems adjusting to the darkness now. A short look over his shoulder showed him that Steve was gathering up their glasses to bring them back into the kitchen. With a hand against the wall he shuffled along as he heard the quiet artificial voice of Jarvis sound from behind him._

_“Capt. Rogers, Sgt. Barnes seems to be in major distress. It also seems that he’s got a weapon.”_

_Jefferson didn’t think – not after the word distress. Wide awake now he darted to the door that was barely two feet away from him. The moment he stepped foot into the room grunts and harsh breathing greeted him, mixed with something that sounded like words, pressed out between clenched teeth, but he couldn’t make sense of them. More Russian? The constant lights of the city behind the opaque windows were more than enough for him to find his way. He hurried closer, mindful of what had happened last time he’d confronted his brother after a nightmare and yet hoping that he could be of any help this time around. At least he could wake him up._

_Bucky was indeed in his bed, lying half on his left side half on his back. He was agitated, fighting tooth and nail with his blanket that had twisted itself around his legs. His eyes were open but there was no doubt that his dreams still held him deep in their grasp. He fought that blanket as if it was trying to kill him. Stabbed at it, ripped at it, tried to kick his legs free of his attacker’s hold._

_He had to stop this! Now!_

_Waking him up, freeing his brother of whatever his mind was torturing him with was the only thing he could think about. He jumped forward, ready to intervene, to grip his arm, his shoulder, whatever he could reach and wake him the fuck up. Suddenly the lights flashed on. Although it was on a very low setting it made him blink for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something – just as he was reaching out for Bucky – when he felt a presence behind him. The same second something grabbed him and pushed him away. His shoulder connected with the shelf. Stumbling a bit he whirled around, white-hot anger boiling in his belly at Steve._

_His brother needed help!_

_How dare he???_

_He had a right to be here!_

_That was when he saw it. Something flashing, a short reflection of light on something metallic in Bucky’s hand. The hand that still attacked the blanket._

_A knife? How did he get a knife?_

_Fabric tore. Filling material floated in the air. And his mouth reacted before his mind even had a chance to comprehend._

_“Bucky!”_

_That’s when he saw the blood. Red spots mottling the white sheets. Glistening stains forming on the visible parts of grey sweatpants._

_Steve was talking softly but he couldn’t make out the words. Couldn’t form proper thoughts. Could only stare as the fist with the knife came down on the thigh again to slash at the blanket._

_And something in him snapped._

_Even before he knew what he was doing he’s moving forward, disregarding the memory of pain in his back and head from last time. His voice is loud and demanding, not nearly as shocked and panicked as he felt._

_“STOP IT! You’re hurting yourself! STOP IT!!!”_

_Then Steve is there again, pushing between him and his brother. Strangely enough,_ this _time his mind realized that he only wanted to protect him. But there is nothing to protect him from._

_Bucky just_ stopped _. The harsh rasping of his breaths filled the quiet room. Other than that he was absolutely still. Unmoving. Frozen._

_For a second there Jefferson thought he’d finally woken up from his shouting. One look at those eyes, though, and he knew he was wrong. His eyes were still, just staring ahead, wild and wide and unseeing. And so terribly frightened._

_Steve got closer, carefully, and took hold of Bucky’s right wrist to pull the knife out of his grip – only it wasn’t a knife at all. It was the fork from his dinner. The half-empty plate was still on the floor next to the bed._

_Bucky let him take it._

_Steve started talking in a low voice, mumbling names and dates and reassurances and all the while he slowly untangled the remnants of the blanket from his friend’s legs. Bucky never resisted, just let Steve do whatever he wanted to do with him. Compliant to a fault._

_Jefferson didn’t understand. Those eyes… that look…_

_Dammit, he was terrified!_

_Then why? Why was he just giving in? WHY?_

_The answer hit him like a slap in the face. Like a punch to the gut._

_> Because you ordered him to! You ordered him to! You did this!<_

_The mere thought made him sick. So damn sick he could barely breathe._

_Steve was still talking while he pushed the blanket aside. He rolled him onto his back and carefully stroked his hair back, letting his hand rest against his cheek._

_“It’s okay now. It’s me. Steve. You’re safe, Buck. You were dreaming, but you’re safe now. No one will hurt you. It’s okay.”_

_And the panic left those familiar blue eyes. Subsided bit by bit, only to be replaced by confusion. Bucky grimaced, trying to make sense of it all._

_“Steve?” It was a pitiful sound. Tiny and wheezing and puzzled and so damn relieved that Jefferson had to bite his tongue to keep himself from voicing his own anguish._

_“Steve!” Again. This time surer._

_And then Bucky’s eyes closed and he started trembling all over._

_He’d been sure his brother was sobbing, crying tears of pain and relief and confusion. Or at least starting to. But he wasn’t. Instead he sagged into the mattress as his muscles not just relaxed but lost every bit of tension. Apart from his right hand that closed around Steve’s lower arm like a lifeline._

_He couldn’t take it. He just couldn’t. Watching this hurt more than he’d thought possible. So he looked away. Spotting the blood again. It was more than before. The image of a fork sticking out of his brother’s thigh filled his mind and his stomach churned._

_Something about “getting the first aid kit” left his lips. At least he thought so. And then he fled. Turned around and ran until the door to the bathroom snapped shut behind him._

_His face burned in shame. At his weakness. His unability to bear it all._

_And it burned in fury. With Hydra. With all those inhuman assholes who’d turned his brother into this mess. Who’d made him compliant even in the face of pain and fear. What the hell did they do to make him fear disobedience enough to let them do anything to him?_

_He barely realized it when his legs gave out and he slid towards the floor, the door at his back. And tears on his face._

 

 

 

“How did the two of you meet?”

Jefferson blinked, taken by surprise – although he really shouldn’t. Bucky leaned forward, sitting on the edge of the armchair by the couches, his elbows on his knees and his head tilted in curiosity. Steve merely raised a questioning eyebrow to indicate that he’d like to know the answer as well.

It was evening and it had been a good day. A really good one. Their initial plan had been to watch a movie but somehow their discussion about what kind of movie they’d liked to watch had turned into a reminiscing of funny stories. Bucky had retold one of their many pranks as kids while Steve had shared some war time stories. Saying that he wasn’t curious about the Howling Commandos would be a blatant lie. And now after his own retelling of a fruitless game of hide-and-seek with a very young Grace in their big house – he’d gone frantic in his search when he couldn’t find her and she wouldn’t answer his calls until he’d run out to Priscilla, close to a full on panic attack because he’d lost their daughter, only to find the girl laughing with her mother – he was faced with their curiosity.

“We met in a vault,” he said with a smirk. “We both tried to convince the other that we worked for the king and had a right to be there, but a thief just knows one of their own if they see one.”

Steve sighed. “So she was a thief, too.“

“Oh yes,” Jefferson laughed. “That she was. We escaped together, although without our price since the guards foiled us. Nonetheless, we teamed up. First for work then for life.“

“Sounds like an interesting woman.“

He leaned back with a smile and looked at his brother. “You would’ve liked her.” He pulled his legs up and put his feet – only clad in socks – on the table, crossed at the ankles, to be more comfortable while he took another swig from his coke.

“What about you?” Bucky turned towards Steve, eyes narrowed a bit in concentration, most likely trying to find the answer to his question somewhere in the vastness of his memories.

Jefferson swallowed. They’d spent so much time together, had talked about so many personal things and he’d never asked the soldier about this? They were locked up here for weeks and only now did he realize that the blond might have a loved one out there. A girlfriend, a wife, a boyfriend. Who knew?

_I never even asked!_

He’d been so wrapped up in his own misery – as always – that he hadn’t paid attention to the people around him. And he felt bad about it.

“Yeah Steve. Do you have someone out there?“

The way Steve pointedly looked down at the carpet, avoiding their gazes, and started fumbling with the label on his soda bottle was telling Jefferson everything he wanted to know.

“Come on. Who’s the lucky one? Did you meet her during one of your missions? Saved her life maybe? Or his?”

It were just small things. A slightly pinched mouth and the sudden stillness of his thumb that had nibbled at his bottle.

He knew immediately that he’d said something wrong.

_You shouldn’t have included the possibility of a male someone. Not every land is open-minded when it comes to that, just as not every decade in said land._

_Idiot!_

“Steve?” Bucky tentatively stretched out his hand, unsure, but his concern won and he placed it on the blond’s knee.

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Jefferson started to apologize, just when the other man raised his eyes with a sigh and silenced him with a simple gesture of his hand.

“Her name’s Peggy. She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met and she certainly never needed saving. Just like you, Buck, she knew me before the serum. And just like you she didn’t just see a skinny weakling.”

_Oh my god!_

It suddenly dawned on him – well, two things did. Steve loved this woman, with all his heart. That much was obvious from the way he talked about her. But if she knew him from before…

“She’s from your past,” he stated, open-mouthed.

Next to him Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, his hair falling in his face while he kept mumbling the name “Peggy”. He did that whenever something sounded familiar to him but he couldn’t grasp it. He wasn’t sure but he thought he heard the word “music” as well.

“She’s still alive. She’s in D.C. in a nursing home. They say she’s got Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“Not your fault.”

“Red.”

“Huh?” Both, he and Steve, turned towards Bucky, who looked like someone who was learning to read and had just painstakingly managed to put a word together only to now be puzzled by its meaning.

Bucky licked his lips, fixing Steve. “She was… wearing… a red… dress…?”

It was more a question than a statement. Nonetheless he tensed, watching Steve’s reaction intently.

“Of course _you_ would remember the dress instead of her uniform,” the blond joked. “But yes, she was wearing a red dress once. And what a dress that was!”

Jefferson hurried to find his voice again. “It takes confidence to pull off the color red believably.”

He wanted nothing more than to hug his brother. To congratulate him on remembering something, small as it may be. To show his joy. And he knew Steve felt much the same. But they’d learned the hard way that Bucky hated that. So they’d agreed on going on with whatever they were doing. No matter how hard it was sometimes. Seeing that smile on his brother’s lips out of the corner of his eyes was worth it, though.

Steve’s laugh pulled him back to the present.

“Believe me. Red fit her perfectly. She was headstrong and had quite the temper.“

Jefferson relaxed again. Bucky remembered something and they steered away from the heavy topic of losing the woman you love. So he sank back into the cushions, enjoying the fond expression on the blond’s face.

“You know what she did when I picked my shield out of a collection that I was presented with and asked her for her opinion?” Steve first looked at Bucky then at him. “Well, I should mention that she was pissed at me at the time.”

“So?” his brother asked while Jefferson took another sip of his coke.

“She grabbed the nearest gun and shot the whole clip at me.”

Jefferson startled, he hadn’t been bargaining for _that_. Next thing he knew he was choking on coke and cold liquid sloshed over his chin and the front of his clothes. He shot up on instinct, leaning forward, coughing hard against the bubbling stuff that tried to enter his lungs. There was movement around him and someone took the bottle from his hand and put it away. Before one of those enhanced muscle men got the chance to break his ribs in a well meant slap on the back he raised his hand to keep them at bay – the other one was pressed against his chest and needed there.

“I’m alright,” he wheezed hoarsely and promptly coughed again.

Finally, he could breathe again. Taking a big gulp of air, he cleared his throat and looked up. Bucky was right next to him, perched on the edge of the couch, ready to jump into action, just like Steve, only he was still on the other side of the coffee table.

Jefferson wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head, all the while gazing reproachfully at the blond in front of him. “Are you crazy? You could kill a guy like that!”

Steve relaxed again and raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh please, don’t be overdramatic.”

It took another second before they started laughing.

He stood up eventually, eager to change his clothes – or at least his cravat which seemed to have taken the brunt of it. The material was sodden and sticky against his skin. With a disgusted expression he fumbled the loose knot open and started to unwrap the cravat from his neck, wiping his chin with a dry part of the material in the process.

“She really _shot_ at you?” He huffed. “What the hell did you do to her to make her _that_ angry?”

Steve frowned at him, confused, which in turn left him puzzled. That was a simple enough question, wasn’t it? He folded the fabric in his hands like he always did, pondering if he should ask what was going on or just leave and change.

The decision was made for him when a hand clamped around his shoulder, out of the blue, and pulled him back down with force. He cried out, startled, only to shut his mouth again as he felt the couch beneath him, a bit embarrassed by his reaction. Although he had no idea what had gotten into his brother, he was amongst friends here.

He saw that Steve had tensed up, but he still sat down, watching them warily.

“Wh-“

Before he even had the chance to get the words out fingers pressed against his jaw, tilting his head to the left. The thumb slid lower, leaving a strangely tingling trail in its wake.

Realization hit him hard.

He wasn’t wearing his cravat. Had taken it off without thinking. He’d never done that before. He’d never felt comfortable enough around anybody to do that. And he’d certainly never been careless enough to just forget about it.

Until now.

His neck was bare. Completely bare.

That’s why Steve had looked so bewildered.

The thumb found its destination and Jefferson froze, his mind tumbling into a panic and at the same time feeling empty. His pulse sped up and his breath hitched as Bucky’s finger traced his scar from right beneath his ear to his Adam’s apple. Not one of them spoke.

Then the hand was gone from his face and back on his shoulder, slowly turning him around until he faced his brother. Outwardly he seemed pretty calm apart from his clenched jaw but there was a storm brewing behind his eyes.

“Who did this to you?” Bucky stressed each word carefully. He wasn’t trying to hide the barely controlled anger.

He was afraid to answer. He was more afraid not to answer. And a part of him – most likely the crazy part – was happy because he knew that look, if only in a very toned down version. This was the ‘you hurt my brother, you’re gonna regret that’-look. It was, however, something completely different to see it on a five year old compared to a trained assassin.

He licked his lips. “The Queen of Hearts.”

“Off with his head.”

Jefferson couldn’t help but flinch at the words even though Bucky merely uttered them.

_How does he know? How can he possibly…_

_The book. Of course. He read the book._

That explained the understanding expression that slowly turned into a horrified one.

“No. That’s not- Jeff, what happened?”

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. Apart from Emma he’d never told anyone what had happened – and that two sentences before he’d been knocked out barely counted. But this was his brother asking.

He moved slowly. Carefully. He pulled his legs up on the couch and closed his right arm around his knees, his cravat still in his grasp. His left hand instinctively came up to cover his neck, especially now that it was bare and made him feel even more vulnerable than usual. Bucky’s firm grip never left his shoulder, though. And that almost made him smile.

“The Queen of Hearts is feared throughout Wonderland. Off with his head. That- that’s what she said.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed him a bit tighter and his brother’s growl sounded quite menacing. “She had you beheaded.”

He nodded.

„Wait! _What_? How can you- that’s not- that’s _impossible_!“ Jefferson had never heard Steve stammer like this. And he’d never seen him this upset. It wasn’t the “you’re crazy, shut up” impossible anymore that he’d encountered back in his own living room as Steve hadn’t believed a word he’d said. No, this time he was looking at an expression of “I know you’re telling the truth but it’s impossible, it has to be, because being true is just too horrible to face”.

He shook his head. “It’s not.”

“You should be dead! How-“

“Magic, Steve. No one dies at the court of the Queen of Hearts except when she wants it.”

“Then why? Why do this if not…”

He huffed out a sad laugh. “To get people to talk. Just imagine dangling by your hair in the grip of a guard and looking down on your unmoving, headless body. Can you think of a better incentive to spill your guts than getting your body reattached?”

The grip on his shoulder got tighter again. Painful.

Steve had to take a deep breath. There was still denial in his eyes, though.

“You said to me you got the scar because you put your trust in the wrong person.” It sounded like an accusation. An almost desperate attempt to reveal him a liar.

_I’m sorry Steve, but I can’t do you that favor._

“I did. Regina persuaded me to do one last job. I took her to Wonderland to steal something. She betrayed me, took my hat and left me there with no possibility of getting back to my daughter. The Queen wanted the hat-“

He trailed off as he saw the dawning understanding on Steve’s face.

“She imprisoned you to make a hat like yours.” The blond snorted, clearly angry now. “And it was Regina’s fault. _Again_!“

“You’re the Mad Hatter,” Bucky stated, shocked.

Jefferson flinched, because of the name but mostly because of the fingers digging hard into his flesh. He turned towards his brother, immediately regretting that he’d been so focused on Steve the whole time.

“Bucky?” There was no reaction, just his labored breathing and the workings of his tense muscles at his neck and his jaw.

He took the hand away from his own neck and gently placed it on his brother’s on his shoulder. He squeezed softly.

“Bucky, you’re hurting me.”

Alarmed at these words Steve got up but Jefferson indicated him to stop as Bucky blinked and loosened his grip. He couldn’t help the relieved sigh as the grinding pressure was gone.

Bucky was up and a few feet away before he even got the chance to blink. He jumped up as well, ready to bolt after him and nodded his answer to Steve’s mouthed question “you alright?”. Carefully rolling his shoulder and cradling the aching joint in his hand he stepped closer to his brother, who stood with his back towards him.

“They will pay for what they did to you!”

The grave determination in his voice, fuelled by the fury he’d glimpsed earlier, gave him a chill. And he was afraid what his brother might do; his need to protect his twin twisted by a false sense for retribution, drilled into him by Hydra.

“Bucky? Look at me, please.”

It took a while, but he did.

“I know you want to protect me or avenge me, but you don’t have to. I’m still here. I survived it all. It’s been years anyway.”

“They hurt you.”

“Yes, they did. And Hydra hurt you. Would you want me to go out there on a vendetta against _them_?”

Bucky blinked in shock. “No!” Quickly he closed the distance between them, raising his arms towards his shoulders and stopping at the last moment, clearly afraid to hurt him again.

“Jeff, promise me that you won’t do that. It’s too dangerous. You-“

Grasping his brother’s hands and squeezing them – as much as one could squeeze a metal hand – he interrupted him. “I promise. I might be a bit mad at times, but I’m not crazy. And you, will you promise me that you won’t go against Regina should you ever meet her?”

“Why, is she dangerous?”

He laughed. “Oh yes, she is, but that’s not the point. She has hurt me and I’ve hurt her. We’re even. She’s one of the good guys nowadays, I don’t want to ruin that.”

Bucky thinned his lips in contemplation for a long while before he finally nodded, albeit very reluctantly. “I promise.”

Jefferson smiled, happy that the crisis was averted.

“What about the Queen? You didn’t say I can’t hurt her.”

He sighed. His brother was way too observant. “She already paid for her wrongdoings. She was killed about a year ago.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitched, unsure if they wanted to move up, satisfied that the Queen got what she deserved according to him, or move downwards, discontented that her punishment didn’t come by his hands.

“I guess I know now why you hate that book so much.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, I have to tell you something:  
> I won't be able to post on Friday, so: one day without an update. Sorry about that.  
> I promise you'll get one on Saturday!  
> And, in compensation the chapters of tomorrow and the day after are considerably longer than the ones up until now. 
> 
> The chapter awaiting you tomorrow is:
> 
> Part Three: Frustration - Bittersweet


	11. Part Three: Frustration - Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson deserves to be happy.  
> And Tony discovers another puzzle piece...

**Part Three: Frustration**

Bittersweet

 

Bucky casually leaned against the doorframe to the living room, watching his brother’s restless pacing. Jeff’s eyes flitted from the hidden arrangement on the floor next to the couch back towards his watch time and again. And all the while he was walking up and down right next to the giant window – for once it wasn’t tinted but showing the whole of New York in the background and Bucky wasn’t a fan of that arrangement at all. Of course he’d checked the other buildings, but a visual check with nothing but his eyes was laughable when faced with hundreds of windows. And Jeff had insisted on the view.

Still, that display of nervousness from his brother was a pleasant change from his gloomy mood yesterday.

Jeff hadn’t talked, had barely acknowledged Steve or him. He’d just sat there with a frown and that deep sadness in his eyes. It had troubled both of them, but before they could ask him about it he’d gone to his room to be alone. They had agreed to give him some space and confront him the next day in case his mood didn’t improve.

It hadn’t.

_Bucky stepped into the kitchen with Steve on his heels. All the other rooms had been empty so far, so Jeff had to be here. According to Steve his brother hadn’t touched his bed this night. At all._

_And there he was. Sitting at the kitchen table, his chin leaning on his folded hands. Staring at a freshly homemade cake right in front of him. It smelled absolutely delicious._

_And he looked absolutely horrible. Tired and sorrowful._

_“Jeff?” he asked, careful not to startle him._

_The blue eyes moved up – red from lack of sleep – just for a moment, looking at them then back down at the cause of that sweet, chocolaty smell._

_“It’s her birthday. I missed so many of them already. Now I miss another one.”_

Yes, the fidgeting was definitely better than the sadness.

In the end it had been Jarvis who’d suggested a video-chat with Grace, so father and daughter would be able to at least see each other. From then on it had been easy to add some other ideas and as Grace had answered Jeff’s text and told him that the Woods – the couple she stayed at, the ones that had been her parents during the curse – had a webcam and she’d call after school his mood had improved greatly.

_At least one of us has a chance of being happy now._

He sighed at his own gloomy thoughts, but it was true. He barely knew what the word even meant let alone how he could ever be anything like happy ever again. Maybe someone like him didn’t deserve being happy, not after bringing so much destruction and death.

A month ago – _has it really been a whole month already?_ – he’d asked Steve and Bucky to help him get his memories back, determined and so full of hope. And now, weeks later, after talking and listening to old music and _wrecking his damn brain_ all he’d gotten were hours of terrible headaches and a few flimsy memories that had felt like a victory at the time.

But were they?

He remembered a dark-haired woman in a red dress.

A whistled tune and the salty smell of the ocean while pushing against a crowbar to open a wooden crate.

Sitting on a fire escape, his feet dangling, looking down at a narrow, dirty alley.

Standing at the edge of a fiery abyss, panic and desperation freezing him to the spot ‘cause Steve was on the other side of it.

Was that really a victory? Four flimsy new memories out of _years_ of living his life?

Sure, the music helped, not just in dragging memories painstakingly slowly back to the surface but also in putting the few flashes back into order that he’d remembered even before they’d found him in the factory. And they started to feel more real, not just like he’d observed them but as if they had really happened to him.

All of that paled, however, in comparison to the horrible truths his dreams uncovered. Night after night Hydra tortured his sleep. The things they had done to him, but most of all the things _he_ had done in their name. Where his brain seemed to refuse to remember his life before Hydra, it sure had no problems unlocking his memories of being their asset. Bit by agonizing bit.

It didn’t fit. Whatever he tried, he just couldn’t fit those pieces together.

The man he was at daytime who was treated like a friend, like family. The man Steve told all these amazing and funny stories about. The man who died a hero.

And then there was the man he saw during the night. The monster that killed without a second thought; that fought for a cause so wrong it made him sick and yet the monster never questioned it.

He felt as if there were two completely different – _incompatible_ – persons stuffed inside his body, forced to get along and function somehow without any instruction on _how the hell_ that should work at all. He wondered if it ever could.

_Jeff took the small bowls from his hands and turned back to the bubbling blancmange on the stove that filled the room with the sweet scent of vanilla. It happened so damn fast._

_His brother turned, his apron got caught on a knife on the counter and pulled it along. It slid over the edge, tumbling to the floor._

_Bucky acted on instinct. His arm reached out even before his brain had the chance to realize the danger of the blade. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, caught the familiar weight in mid-air everything was suddenly crystal clear._

_His eyes shot up, fixing on his target. The weapon back in his hand. Ready for attack._

_It would be an easy kill. His target was unaware, turning away. Baring his vulnerable back._

_He jabbed forward, aiming to push the blade in beneath the ribcage with an upward stroke to penetrate lung and heart in one go._

_A hand closed around his arm out of nowhere and something heavy pushed him aside._

_With practiced ease he overcame his surprise and twisted to the side to get out of the grasp of the attacker. At the same time he threw the knife up, watched it twirl through the air with a satisfied smirk and grabbed for it with his metal hand to plunge it into his attacker’s belly._

_Something was wrong._

_His fingers wouldn’t respond as they usually did. His weapon clattered to the floor._

_This wasn’t supposed to happen._

_Something was wrong._

_He found himself staring down at his left hand. His wrist and fingers unmoving, no matter how hard he tried._

_Next thing he knew he’s pressed face first against the wall by someone tall and heavy. And strong. And someone is talking._

_He blinked. Then again. Trying to shake the disorienting haze, the confusion. Trying to make sense of the words._

_His eyes fell on a table. With a fruit bowl on top. And a wall of tinted glass._

_The kitchen._

_He was in the kitchen. And the knife had fallen-_

_The knife._

_Oh God, no! Not again!_

Bucky wanted to be the man from the day, but the man from the night followed him everywhere. Always lurking in the shadows of his mind, waiting. And every now and then, mostly when he least expected it, he attacked.

He could barely sleep at all anymore, was afraid to sleep to begin with. Afraid of the nightmares. Afraid of what horrors about the other man within him they would uncover. And every time he _did_ sleep, he felt dirty and so damn guilty afterwards. He couldn’t understand how Jeff and Steve could possibly want to have anything to do with him even though they knew what he was.

_That’s because they don’t_ really _know! If they ever find out all the things you’ve done…_

They deserved to know, but he was so damn afraid of losing them, that they would pack their things and leave him be. They were the only good thing in his life right now, the only thing that grounded him, kept him steady. He wouldn’t be able to cope without them.

So instead he kept his mouth shut. Where at first he’d shared his new memories of his time with Hydra with them in the mornings he now spent more time punching and kicking the shit out of the punch bag. He faced their sessions with more and more desperation, hoping against all odds that somehow the good things in his memory would cancel out the bad stuff, that his good deeds would compensate for all the terror he’d spread.

If he’d be half the man Steve thought he was, he’d break out of this place and spare them from associating with a monster. From staining them with his darkness.

But he wasn’t that man. He was too weak. Too desperate for anything good in his existence.

He was pathetic.

The only real thing he’d achieved so far was a rapidly growing frustration. And getting more and more short-tempered every day.

The phone rang and interrupted his bleak thinking.

Jeff jumped, brushing down his immaculate shirt and vest.

“I’ll reroute Miss Grace’s call now,” announced the bodiless voice of Jarvis.

A shimmering screen popped up out of nowhere at the wall behind the armchair. His position wasn’t ideal but he could watch his brother standing at the coffee table while still being able to see the screen although at a slightly sharp angle. A moment later the ringing stopped and was replaced by the video-feed of a young girl with light brown hair and the most beautiful smile ever.

_She’s your niece!_

Bucky had never seen Jeff this happy.

The restlessness from minutes ago was forgotten, as was the sadness from before. Instead he was beaming.

“Hey honey! It’s _so_ good to actually see you!”

He felt Steve come up behind him more than he heard him. The blond stepped out of the kitchen into the living room and leaned back against the wall next to him, his eyes on Jeff. A smile on his face.

“Papa!” the girl exclaimed. “Oh, this is _so_ cool! I never thought you’d know how to use a webcam!”

Jeff’s mouth dropped open in good-natured indignation. “Oy, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Her head tilted sideways, chuckling softly. “Oh, come on. You know you’re not the biggest friend of modern technology. At least when it comes to computers and stuff.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m incapable of… alright, you’re right,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. “I had help.”

“I knew it!”

“Happy birthday, Grace!” The way he said it, put so much emphasis on the words, if felt as if they were the most important words he’d ever spoken. “I’m so sorry I’m not there with you, that I’m not back yet. God, I’m sorry I left you _again_ in the first place.”

Bucky could hear the anguish this caused him. His throat tightened and he had to swallow against the lump there. _He_ was the reason for this. Jeff had left his daughter behind to look for him and now he was locked up here and she was trapped back there with no idea when they would get together again.

_You shouldn’t have, brother. I’m not worth it._

Strangely enough Grace didn’t seem overly troubled. She still had a warm smile on her face, although her eyes spoke of a maturity that seemed unusual for a girl her age.

“It’s alright, Papa. Really. It’s not the same. This time we can talk. We can even see each other. This time I know where you are. And this time I don’t just hope but I _know_ you’re coming back!”

_What an amazing girl!_

_This is my niece!_ My _niece!_

Jeff bit his lip while a smile still tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I love you. You know that?”

Grace rolled her eyes melodramatically, but her lips were pursed in her attempt to not grin widely. “I love you, too, Papa,” she admitted in the end.

Seemingly at ease with the whole universe Jeff sat down on the couch and leaned back. He placed his left ankle on his right knee and his arms on both sides onto the backrest, the very epitome of relaxed.

Bucky was stunned. There he was, his brother, who had faced so many horrors, who’d lost his brother, his parents, his wife, who had been betrayed and ripped away from his daughter twice, who’d been imprisoned and driven mad and _decapitated_ and cursed and forced to see his child happy with another family, who’d killed and suffered from nightmares and yet here he was, a man so full of love, still fighting to leave the horrors behind and start a new and better life.

To his surprise he felt his eyes sting. He blinked quickly, staring at his brother, the strongest person he knew.

A worthy, inspiring example.

“Come on, I’m dying of curiosity here. What did you do today?” Jeff asked with a wink.

Again the girl rolled her eyes at his antics. “It’s Tuesday, Papa. I went to school.”

Jeff’s eyebrow twitched upwards and she snickered. “Alright, alright. I got up early. Iris made me my favorite breakfast and brought me to school. No bus today. Oh, you’ll never guess what she and Wes gave me!” Of course she didn’t wait for him to actually make a guess. “Binoculars! They are so cool! Now we can _really_ observe animals on our next trip to the woods. I can’t wait to watch the robins nesting!”

Bucky could’ve stood in that door forever. Listening to that mundane conversation, watching them interact. It tugged at his heart.

Jeff leaned forward, his hands on his bent leg now. “That sounds great! I promise you: as soon as I’m back we’ll take a trip through the forest! Maybe we’ll catch the squirrels setting up their stashes. And of course I’ll get you a really cool present as well!”

“You can get me one right now.” His eyebrow twitched again and rose even higher at her innocent tone. “You just have to say yes.”

“Yes to what?” Jeff asked skeptically.

“To dancing lessons?” she replied hopefully. “Ashley’ll start lessons in ballroom dancing in two weeks. You know Ashley, right? Um, Cinderella? She said every girl should know how to dance like a princess and every boy should know how to lead and treat a girl right. Can I go? Please, Papa!”

There was a flash of something. Not really a memory, just the vague feeling of a woman’s body against his. Of swaying to some music.

He shook his head. He hated that moments. Nothing but tiny glimpses that confused him more than they shed light on his past. And no matter how much he tried he couldn’t hold on to those feelings, couldn’t grasp them and take a closer look, trying to remember something more tangible. They always eluded him.

Jeff’s laughter made him focus on the scene in front of him again. He seemed a bit relieved. Without question he’d expected something different.

“As if he’d ever say no to _that_ ,” Steve mumbled close to him.

“Unlikely,” he whispered back.

“Oh Grace, of course you can go! In fact, that’s a great idea! And when I’m back, I’ll show you some moves myself!”

Bucky almost chuckled as he watched Grace’s delighted expression morph into a surprised and disbelieving frown. “You know how to dance? For real? Like… at a ball?”

Now, this time Jeff sagged back against the couch with a hurt expression, one hand across his heart. It only lasted seconds before his face twitched and he started laughing. After a moment he pushed himself up, wiping at his eyes, still giggling like a madman.

“You don’t believe me?”

And with those words he assumed closed dancing posture – well, with an invisible partner, but nonetheless unmistakably a dancing posture. Without further ado he swirled around in a circle right between the two couches and the coffee table.

Bucky wasn’t sure what was more amusing – and ridiculous: his brother’s performance or his niece’s face.

Finally Jeff came to a stop and chuckled at his daughter’s open-mouthed staring.

“Oh honey, you should’ve seen that old man of yours on the dance floor at one of the balls at Golden Castle. You would’ve been…” He paused and screwed up his face all of a sudden, then shrugged. “Well, I guess you would’ve been embarrassed as hell most likely.”

They looked at each other for a moment before they broke out in gales of laughter. Grace’s shoulders were shaking and Jeff was leaning forward, holding his belly.

Bucky had to grin.

This was so damn beautiful to watch. And it warmed his heart.

Really, he was marveling at how happy and at ease Jeff was right now, talking and messing about with his “little” girl. For the first time since he’d gotten his brother back he really saw that carefree boy from his memories that always had a smile on his face.

“You sure you don’t want to talk to her? Wish her a happy birthday as well?”

His whole body tensed at Steve’s whispered words. Where his fingers had rested against his thigh, thumb hooked into the pocket of his jeans, they were now digging into his pants and the flesh beneath.

Minutely he shook his head. “Very sure!”

He looked at the laughing pair in front of him. No, he didn’t fit in there.

_They’re your family._

He would only taint that picture in front of him, taint their happiness.

_That’s not all you are!_

_Follow Jeff’s example and fight this!_

Even then, even if he forced himself to ignore the man he was in the dark, he was still barely comfortable with the situation here, with not being on guard all the time. With people around him that cared for him.

And he was still sorting through all that chaos in his mind, trying to make sense of it all and so far he didn’t like where it was going. He barely knew who he’d been a long time ago and he hated the person he’d been forced to become. And he’ll be damned if he had any idea who he was right now.

Steve leaned closer, nudging his shoulder that leaned against the doorframe with his. “I’m sure she’s dying of curiosity about her uncle, you know?”

_Uncle. I’m an uncle._ Her _uncle._

_No! I can’t!_

He couldn’t face her. Couldn’t face yet another person’s expectations that he’d have no idea how to live up to.

“Please. Don’t.” The words were clipped and forced out.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the information of pressure where it rested on the metal part, but most of all he could feel the warmth through his shirt of the part that rested over his skin. Only then did he notice that his eyes were closed.

When he opened them, Steve was right in front of him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I- I didn’t meant to push you like that. I’m sorry.”

Bucky nodded. Relieved and embarrassed and angry at himself that he chickened out of saying “Happy Birthday” to a child.

Another fit of laughter broke up their “conversation”. Steve resumed his position against the wall while Bucky tried to immerse himself in his brother’s happiness again.

Jeff and Grace were still talking about the dancing lessons as a sudden knock interrupted them. The girl turned around towards the door right behind her. It was opened a bit and a woman peeked inside.

“Grace, you’ve got a visitor.”

“Now? But I told you I’d be calling Papa. Who is it?”

It was pretty obvious that she wasn’t exactly thrilled to be disturbed.

Instead of an answer the woman opened the door fully and revealed a blond man in a dark suit with a cloth bag over his shoulder. His hair was in a bit of disarray, as if he’d been in a hurry to get there. But more importantly there was a delicious-looking cake in his hands with candles burning on top of it.

He couldn’t see her face, but her surprised shout of “Victor” and the way her hands flew up to her mouth spoke volumes. He smiled. Jeff’s plan had worked.

“Happy Birthday, Grace,” the man named Victor said – the man his brother called friend.

Jeff merely put his hands on his hips, unimpressed. “You’re late!”

Victor answered with a raised eyebrow and an equally unimpressed tone, “Some of us have to work for a living, you know?”

Grace turned again and fixed her father across the screen. “You arranged for this?”

Jeff shrugged. “I just thought,” he stepped backwards, “this way,” he leaned behind the couch and lifted the hidden plate with his cake up, the candles flickering at the sudden movement, “we could at least eat some cake together.”

Grace’s mouth dropped open before she started grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Bucky tried to commit every moment of this to memory. His mind was so full of sorrow and violence that this display of love and affection and happiness felt like a soothing balm that made it possible to breathe freely for a while. A lifeline he could cling to when his past threatened to overwhelm him again at night.

Victor placed the cake somewhere they couldn’t see and Grace hugged him. He pulled some paper plates and a big knife out of his bag and Grace got to work. All the while Jefferson did the same on this end and placed three pieces of cake on plates. Steve went over, got one and brought it back to him.

Bucky smiled weakly, but it felt off somehow. Steve didn’t seem to mind, though. So he nudged the plate between his left thumb and index finger until it was secure and grabbed for the fork.

Steve went back, took his own plate and stepped up behind Jeff.

“Hi Grace! Happy Birthday!”

“Steve!” Her face lit up again, not just in recognition but also joy. “How nice to see you!” Immediately her eyes darted sideways, searching. “What about Bucky?”

Again he tensed. Even more so when the blond man also asked about him.

“Yeah, how is he, anyway?”

“He’s…” Jeff started, unsure what to say, and then he looked across the room right at him.

He froze. There it was, the expectation.

_He’ll want me to come over. To join them._

_I can’t. Don’t make me do this._

_But he’s my brother. How can I say no to that?_

It took him a moment to realize that there was no expectation at all in his brother’s gaze. Just fondness and understanding. And a warm smile as he turned back to his daughter.

“He doesn’t feel ready yet.”

She nodded. “Okay, but Papa?”

“Huh?”

“Give him a piece of the cake! And tell him, I hope he’s feeling better soon and that he gets his memories back. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for him. And I’m really looking forward to meeting him.”

Bucky stared at her. Here he was, feeling out of place, like a dark stain on white fabric. And there they were, his family, taking him in, understanding him, including him and thinking of him, even his niece who didn’t even know him. They made it seem so easy, so natural.

Maybe it really was. He wouldn’t know, not anymore.

“I will, honey. Now, time for some cake! Um, Victor, you- didn’t make this yourself, did you?”

The blond rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed. “Seriously Jefferson, what reason could I possibly have to poison your daughter? Of course I didn’t make that cake! Granny did.”

Bucky stared at his cake and swallowed against the lump in his throat. Hesitantly he parted a piece with his fork and put it in his mouth.

Nothing he remembered had ever tasted as bittersweet as this.

 

 

 

The coastline shot past beneath him. It was a bit strange, like following one of the lines on Mondrian’s later works. To his left the rich and dark green of New Hampshire’s and Maine’s forests, only interspersed with some rare flecks of red or yellow – and some coast towns of course. And on his right the deep blue of the seemingly endless ocean, speckled with some boats. The color contrast was disorienting, as if he was flying in two separate areas at once.

With the sun in his back Tony sped further up northeast, the coordinates of his destination steadily blinking on his screen. Over the last few weeks Jarvis had traced two different calls of their Barnes-lookalike back to their origin, one to his daughter, the other one to the man called Victor. Both led him to the same area: South Maine.

The  mysterious Storybrooke.

The last weeks had been busy, far more so than he’d liked.

The opening of a new Stark Industries facility was coming up soon and CEO or not, the only one he’d trusted with the last check-ups on the biggest arc-reactor in existence so far had been himself.

That mission in Venezuela had turned up new leads on some Hydra-supporting companies that had needed looking into.

The work on the new repulsor-system for higher energy output and better fine-control hadn’t been doing itself either.

And because he hadn’t been busy enough already Jarvis had informed him seemingly every other day – okay it hadn’t been _that_ often – about another violent outburst of his private Hydra detainee.

To be honest, the first time he’d been so deep into his calculations that he’d only remembered it the next time Jarvis’d reported an incident. That time, though, Barnes had been armed with a kitchen knife.

_His eyes were trained on the video screen, intently watching Steve pressing the long-haired threat against the wall. His phone was in his hands, Rhodey’s picture on the display. All he had to do was call him and Barnes would be history. Gone. Where he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again._

_But he couldn’t. Instead he stared at Steve who calmly tried to talk the other man down._

_Steve didn’t see it. Even after being attacked with a knife by the Winter Soldier he still didn’t see the monster. And as long as he didn’t see it, he’d never – ever – forgive him for locking Barnes away._

_His finger trembled above the display before it hit the button… to turn the phone off._

That phone was history now. It hadn’t survived his fury with himself for giving in _yet again_. In the end, it was better this way. All this stuff about Hydra and Barnes and doppelgangers and Storybrooke, it was connected. And until he figured out what was going on it was probably best to keep all the puzzle pieces where he could watch them.

At least that was a reason he was able to square with his own conscience. 

So he’d been checking up everything he could get on this “Emma Swan” in between his other duties. The trail had run cold abruptly. One moment she’d been in Boston, working as a bail bonds person and the next she’d been gone, dropped off of the face of the earth.

It had therefore been about time to leave base and follow another one.

Storybrooke.

A quick glance at the HUD made him frown.

“Okaaaay,” he drawled out, “Jarvis? Are you sure these are the right coordinates?”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

Tony stopped midair, hovering, and stared down at the ground. There was nothing. Well, of course there was something! More ocean and more forest, a few streets maybe, but otherwise nothing. No boats, no houses, no cars, no people. _No goddamn town_!

“This gets weirder and weirder. Alright then, Jarvis, lets scan the area. Something is definitely rotten in the State of Maine!”

“It seems the scanners aren’t able to penetrate a certain area, Sir.”

“My, my! Look at that!” he whistled, while watching the schematics that formed at the side of his HUD. A blue line swept over the schematic of the area beneath him, highlighting everything in a light blue that gave of any kind of surface information – terrain, composition etc. He didn’t spare a second thought to that data, though. Not when there was a negative image forming right in the middle of the scan. A blank area. It gave of no information at all.

Just nothing. Nothing in the form of a gigantic dome.

“A force field. Interesting. What area are we talking about here?“

Another image replaced the first one, this time a map. A bright line marked the area that couldn’t be detected. His eyes grew wide as he looked at the scale bar.

“Whoa, that’s one hell of a force field. I wonder where it draws its power from.”

Tony immediately checked the scans again, searching for any indication of energy lines, a power grit or something suspicious. There was nothing.

“No sign of a generator. Not even a hint how something this big might be sustained. Damn! That’s mean! And so not okay! You have to get your energy from somewhere. Somewhere inside… What are you hiding? And why? But even more importantly: WHO? Who the hell has resources and tech like that without me knowing anything about it?”

He didn’t like this.

Riddle-guy came from here. A perfect lookalike to Hydra’s secret weapon. And now there’s a giant force field around the area, hiding something?

There was something VERY rotten in the state of Maine!

“I need to see this with my own eyes!” he mumbled to no one in particular.

Within seconds he landed in the middle of a forest, right at the edge of the invisible barrier. The first thing he noticed upon opening his face plate was the deep, earthy smell of woods that weren’t overly frequented by men. The second thing that caught his eye was the lack of any telltale signs of a force field. No flickering in the air, not even where spots of sunlight interspersed with shadow from the trees. No buzzing of electricity – or another kind of energy – no signs on the ground that marked the line where it touched the surface.

“This is marvelous!”

Fascinated he stepped closer, squinting closely without ever detecting anything out of the ordinary.

“The force field is only 10 inches in front of you, Sir. Might I advise you to be more careful?” Jarvis informed him.

“You might,” Tony mumbled, clearly distracted. Shaking his head in wonder – and envy – he raised his right hand, stretching it out carefully.

A resigned sigh sounded inside the still closed parts of his helmet. “But as always you’re going to ignore me.”

Tony would have answered, hadn’t he been thrown through the air.

The moment his hand met resistance an intense shock ran through him. He was carried off his feet and propelled backwards with surprising – and absolutely unexpected – force until he was stopped abruptly by a hard crash against his back. With an “oomph” he fell to the ground, disoriented.

“I tol-“

“Hold it!” It was more a groan than actual words but Jarvis understood and kept his “I told you so” to himself while he tried to get his bearings back. Only then did he realize that his face plate was closed again. The A.I. must have closed it to prevent further injury.

_Thanks J._

He got back on his feet, checking his suit as well as his limbs for damage, all the while staring ahead at the invisible force field that had made him fell a tree. He didn’t want to know what would’ve happened if he’d touched that thing with his bare hand. 

“Something is very, _very_ wrong here. You got all the data on that?”

“I’ve recorded every last second of your latest stunt, Sir.”

For once he wasn’t in the mood for reacting to the dry sarcasm that usually got him started on all sorts of friendly bantering. “Then let’s get out of here. This ‘stunt’ was most likely noticed and I’d like to know what I’m up against before I throw myself right in the middle of it.”

He fired his thrusters and shot up into the air, accelerating up to his usual flight velocity. Even after several minutes – and lots of miles he’d already covered – nothing was on his track. It was odd, although he wasn’t exactly unhappy about it. They must feel very safe or sure of themselves if they didn’t view being discovered – by him or in general – as a threat.

_What are they hiding in there? And who_ are _they to begin with?_

_Well, whatever it is, it’s big. An underground compound? But why put a giant force field dome on top of something that’s hidden anyway?_

He was still contemplating these questions when New York came back into view a short time later.

“Sir, there’s a call for…”

“Not now, Jarvis!” he shot back. This really wasn’t the time. He had a puzzle to solve and almost no time left until he had to leave again for dinner with Pepper. She was only in Philadelphia for three days for the duration of the _Clean Energy Conference_ that Stark Industries sponsored and he didn’t want to miss the chance to see her. Especially if she was only a short distance away compared to the other side of the country.

He landed gracefully on the platform intended for the quinjet and hurried inside through the hangar and further down to his workshop, where he stepped out of the armor and fired off orders at once.

“Show me the data! I want to have a close look at everything that happened when I touched that barrier. Energy readings, scans of the force field. Give me all you’ve got. Including the scans from before. Anything new while I was gone?”

Various holographic screens popped up around him, showing graphs and figures, stills and the video recordings from the cameras in his helmet.

“Yes, Sir. Miss Potts called while you were away.”

Tony dismissed that with a waving motion of his hand. “I meant in Rura Penthe.”

“I arranged a video-chat for Mr. Jefferson and his daughter about an hour ago. They were celebrating the girl’s birthday. Sir, about Miss Potts-“

He rolled his eyes. “Not now, Jarvis. I haven’t forgotten about our dinner plans, alright? She doesn’t need to remind me and neither do you. Now, the readouts- wait… a video-chat you said? Show me the footage!”

With a quick flip of his wrist he pushed away some of the tables on one screen that was immediately filled with a recording of his current guest’s living room. He watched for a few seconds then turned off the volume, it was merely distracting him. His lips pursed in thought as he frowned.

“Are you sure it’s the same location?”

“With an accuracy of 99.86%.”

He enlarged the area that showed the girl. She was clearly inside a building, a normal house if the stuffed animals and posters and books and the small part of a window in the background were any indication. And she wasn’t the only person there. There was also a woman and a blond man. Eating cake.

“It’s a stealth dome. Like an invisibility cloak. _What the hell_?”

He’d been there. Had seen it with his own eyes. Nothing had even hinted at a force field let alone any kind of civilization on the inside. If this thing was able to conceal the interior as well… _Fuck!_ He’d never seen tech like this before. It was huge and worked absolutely flawless. Which was fascinating and absolutely incredible. But at the same time it scared the shit out of him.

This should be impossible.

Snapping his fingers nervously he spun around, sorting through the screens of data with his eyes alone, while his mind worked in overdrive, calculating and piecing different details together, hoping to get enough of the picture to make sense of it.

“Jarvis, I need all the information you can get about that coordinates. Everything strange that happened in that area. And I want to know if there has ever been a S.H.I.E.L.D. base there or in the vicinity.”

He needed to know how big the chances were that he was dealing with Hydra here.

That’s when he remembered.

_Damn!_

He stopped and let his head hang for a moment, sighing. “And call Pepper. This is way bigger than I thought. Dinner has to wait, I’m afraid.”

He bit his lip, frustrated. He really hated cancelling their plans, especially since he’d shut her out of the tower for her own safety. They were seeing each other rarely enough as it was with all their responsibilities. But ever since the newest residents of the tower had arrived unannounced they’d barely seen each other at all.

He missed her.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Jarvis said, sounding a bit exasperated. “Miss Potts has cancelled today’s dinner plans.”

_What? That’s not like her_.

_At least that gives me more time to work this out._

“Why?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the energy readings of the barrier from the moment he touched it.

“She said she’s not feeling well. Judging from her voice pattern based on a comparison with earlier recordings I’d say Miss Potts is suffering from a migraine attack.”

His hands fell down at his sides and his mind went blank, the different energy figures tumbling through space as his thoughts weren’t able to process them properly anymore.

Pepper wasn’t prone to sickness, if anything she was the healthiest person he knew – well, the healthiest _normal_ person. Thor and Steve certainly didn’t count. But every now and then she suffered a heavy migraine attack. He’d never realized this back when he’d run the company together with Obediah or even later. She was always so efficient, even in being sick. Knew the signs perfectly and prevented it from getting worse by taking her prescribed medication. It didn’t work every time, though. Once or twice a year the pills didn’t work or she realized it too late, he wasn’t sure which. And it didn’t matter.

Ignorant and egoistic bastard that he was most of the time he hadn’t even noticed when they started dating. Only when he’d walked in on her after a late night in the workshop, finding her groaning in pain in their bed.

_He was lying in bed, his head propped up on the pillow and the most precious thing on this earth in his arms. Suffering. Pepper was curled up at his side, burying her face into his chest. One of her hands was tugged against her chest, the other splayed across his belly, clutching his shirt. And twitching every now and then, mostly accompanied with a soft moan._

_The room was dark and quiet as he held her in his arms, softly caressing her back and her arm across his middle with his fingers. And for once he was quiet himself. No fidgeting, no talking, just being there for her the way she needed it. Very gently he pressed a kiss against her hair, not caring in the slightest that it needed washing or that he could still smell some acidic traces in her breath from the two times she’d thrown up already._

It had taken her three days to get back on her feet again. One for the pain to subside and two to rest up and get her bearings back.

Tony looked up at the screens, at all the pieces of a giant puzzle, right in front of him.

He took a deep breath. “Jarvis, collect the information about the coordinates and start a preliminary evaluation on the data from today’s scans. Have it ready as soon as I’m back. And call me if anything important happens. And I mean _important_! Understood?”

“Perfectly clear, Sir. Shall I inform Miss Potts of your intentions?“

He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “And have her waste her energy on telling me to not bother? No way. Just- let her rest.”

A minute later he was in his armor again, this time heading in the opposite direction.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for the longest chapter so far. Hope you liked it :)  
> It's one of my favorites (especially Bucky's part), but my absolute favorite has to wait till Sunday.
> 
> @ghostwriter107:   
> See? I can be nice to Jefferson! And yes, he's awesome! :D
> 
> So, tomorrow another long one is awaiting you:  
> Part Three: Frustration - A Bad Idea


	12. Part Three: Frustration - Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One bad idea can be the straw to break the camel's back...

**Part Three: Frustration**

A Bad Idea

 

The cheeky melody filled the living room, transporting him back in time with ease. Music had changed so much in the last decades, not really for the better but also not for the worse, it was just- different. And you never heard swing anywhere these days. Tapping his foot in time Steve focused back on the two men right in front of him.

Bucky and Jefferson were currently dancing.

It had been Jefferson’s idea.

They’d been musing about trying other angles to tackle their memory problem and somehow talking about music had led to him reminiscing his evenings out with Bucky and his dates to go dancing, back before the war.

Bucky had been reluctant at first, unsure what to do, but Jefferson had volunteered to take on the woman’s part, confident that he’d at least know the basic steps. Still it had taken them some effort to coax their friend and brother to even try. Especially after that incident a week ago that he still felt guilty about. Bucky had been avoiding every kind of physical contact ever since. Up until now.

_The expression on Bucky’s face made Steve’s stomach churn, even though the food had been delicious. It had also been a bittersweet walk down memory lane. In a further attempt to jog his brother’s memory Jefferson had started to cook dishes from the thirties and fourties – or more specifically food that Steve told him they’d eaten a lot or liked back then._

_He doubted that it was helping._

_Right now Bucky pushed each bite of his bologna casserole around in his mouth like a wine taster his sip of wine. The look on his face was so concentrated that it seemed almost painful. Steve knew that expression by now. He remembered something. A tiny detail, something he regarded as insignificant or something he couldn’t place and now he tried desperately to force his memory to cooperate some more._

_He got up and placed his empty plate back in the sink, making a decision as he met Jefferson’s uneasy gaze across the room. He had to stop this before Bucky strained himself too much and ended up with a headache._

_Again._

_Back at the table he stood behind his friend and placed his hands on his shoulders._

_“It’s alright, Buck. Don’t overdo it, okay? It’ll come back in time. I’m sure it will.”_

_The tense muscles beneath his right hand eased as his friend swallowed and sighed in resignation._

_“Why don’t we take dessert on the couch and you can explain to me again how this entropy stuff works.  I still don’t think I really got that.”_

_Bucky had made a comment about entropy in regard to the mess he’d made of the formerly organized bookshelf in the living room. As Steve had inquired about its meaning he’d found himself faced with a detailed explanation about something that he took absolutely no interest in as he’d learned pretty quickly. Yet he’d rather face that boring concept that went beyond his understanding again than see his friend wearing himself out. Again._

_Bucky sagged further in defeat. He let his head hang low and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. A sure sign of a beginning headache Steve’d learned._

_He felt bad for his friend, even doubted this whole endeavor for a moment but pushed it all far away. For Bucky’s sake. He wanted this. And Steve would help him. In any way he could._

_His hands slid down Bucky’s arms and squeezed his upper arms encouragingly._

_“Come on, let’s-“_

_He had only time to realize that something was wrong. That the man in front of him tensed up. Then everything went too fast, even for him._

_He was on the floor, completely surprised. His chest was aching where Bucky’s head had connected with him and his face hurt from a punch he could barely remember. Blinking in confusion he noticed the chair shattered by the window and Jefferson pressed against the wall next to the exit, eyes wide in shock._

_Bucky was above him, breathing heavily. His good hand balled into a fist, ready to fight. But the worst were his eyes. Cold and distant, the burning anger not enough to disguise the panic beneath. Wherever he was right now, it wasn’t in this room._

_Slowly and in a hopefully unthreatening way Steve raised his hands, showing his palms as a sign of surrender._

_“Bucky? Hey. It’s me. Steve. You’re in the kitchen. In New York. I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry.“ He wasn’t sure what for exactly, but that didn’t really matter. Something he’d done had triggered this. That was all he needed to know right now._

_The forehead behind the dark strands of hair creased. His friend blinked a few times and recognition crept back into his gaze. As did confusion. He looked around, bewildered at first, then horrified. He was trembling when he stared down at him, eyes wide and chest heaving._

_Steve was suddenly very aware of the trickling feeling of blood against his skin where his lip was split. And he was sure that his left cheek was bright red – and would become a lovely shade of violet later on._

_Bucky stumbled, recovered his footing and mumbled a barely recognizable “I’m sorry” before he fled the kitchen._

But in the end Bucky had resigned to the idea of dancing, unwilling to miss an opportunity to regain that which had been taken from him.

Watching his best friend dance now was like looking through a window into the past. After merely a few uncertain steps he’d found his ease again. The same graceful posture, the same skillful movements, each step, each twist and turn sure-footed as ever. The only thing off was that his partner wasn’t wearing a dress.

 _Jefferson was right. Muscle memory obviously_ is _pretty hard to erase. Maybe this time it’ll work._

 _Please! It doesn’t have to be everything, but please let him remember_ something _._

Frustration was wearing them all out and making them quick to anger, but most of all Bucky. From week to week it got worse. In the beginning his friend had started off trying everything to get his memories back with enthusiasm and new hope. But then his demeanor got more determined and alarmingly more aggressive and desperate of late. And with dwindling regard for his own well-being, pushing on and on, working himself to his limits until he ended up with another splitting headache. Or until he destroyed another punching bag.

The increasingly deeper and darker shadows under his eyes weren’t exactly easing his worries either. But he wasn’t sure what to do, except think of new ways to help him achieve what he was looking for.

He was glad he’d had the chance to leave the apartment a few times these last days – even if he felt guilty about that as well. In the end the others didn’t have that luxury. Sam had showed up now that he was allowed to walk around and leave his house again. He’d still been limping and he’d only had two days until he’d needed to be back for his next physio session.

Steve had hoped that Sam could sit down with Bucky and talk with him. Of course Tony had thwarted his plans by not allowing Sam into the apartment. The former Air Force Officer and the proclaimed genius had had quite the tangle with one another as a result. Tony’d had the upper hand, though.

Nonetheless, at least he had gotten the chance to talk to his friend face to face.

 _“He’s using the task of getting his memories back as an excuse to not having to process what has happened to him. His memories will come back on their own terms,_ if _they’ll come back. Chasing after them won’t help. It’s just a distraction. He’s been used, Steve. No matter if against his will or if they made him believe what he was doing is right. He’s been used for_ decades! _By the people he fought against during the war. That’s a lot to take in. And he_ needs _to acknowledge that. He needs to find a way to come to terms with that.”_

 _“I know, but- he wants this. He_ wants _to remember.”_

Steve sighed. He really needed to talk to Bucky. To try and make him open up a bit. He was telling them about things he remembered every now and then but he never really _talked_ about anything that had happened to him. But it never seemed to be the right time and if he actually tried something got in the way or Bucky evaded him. He needed to be more persistent.

_Yeah, ‘cause that has worked so great last time after Zola._

He’d never opened up about that as well.

_You stubborn idiot. Why do you have to bottle all this stuff up?_

And on top of all that – as if this wasn’t enough already – Tony had asked him to come to his workshop a few days ago. He’d assumed it was because of Bucky’s violent flashback in the kitchen or even Sam’s outburst, but it had been even worse.

_“What’s this?” Tony demanded to know without preamble, pointing at a screen that showed some aerial shot of a coastal region. A red line highlighted a large, almost circular area in the middle of the image._

_“I’m not sure? A satellite picture?” He really had no idea what this was all about, but he had no time – and certainly no patience – for one of Tony’s games._

_“I’m not a fool, Rogers!” the dark-haired flared up. His arms shot up in anger and stabbed in the direction of the image again. His voice shook with barely contained fury. And Steve suddenly realized – really realized – that he only ever saw Tony livid anymore. He wished for the easy camaraderie they’d shared once._

_“Something big is going on! I know it! Dammit, I’ve_ seen _it! Your crazy guy up there, that mysterious Storybrooke and that fucking force field. It’s all connected and you know. You_ know _! But you’re not telling me! Steve, I- I need to know what’s coming! You have no idea- that tech, combining stealth technology with a force field? In that dimensions? S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing like it and neither do I. Not even close and that’s freaking me out! I_ need _to know if I have to be ready. If it’s the bad guys or- is it Hydra? Have they a secret base down there? Did you steal their weapon there from under their eyes? For God’s sake, give me something here!”_

_Tony was breathing more heavily than usual. Something fierce was turning his dark eyes into glowing coals that burned someone if their gaze rested too long on them. But Steve could see that there was something else hidden beneath all that ire, could see it in the way his hands shook and the defensive set of his shoulders. He was hurt. Maybe even more than that: betrayed._

_And he was afraid._

_Tony was afraid. That was… unexpected. And it made him uneasy._

_Preoccupied like that it took him a few moments to make sense of his words. He didn’t like his conclusions one bit and yet he knew he should’ve seen it coming._

_Tony had listened in on them in the apartment. There was no other way for him to have heard of Storybrooke. Son of a bitch! Well, he should’ve realized that right away. Damn the Stark-curiosity. And flying out to Storybrooke?_

_What force field? Was there more in place than just an ice-wall? Seems like it. It also seems that Tony hadn’t learned about magic yet – or he just disregarded it for its absurdity._

_“It’s not-,” he sighed, one arm at his hip. There was no way he could explain and if he would he was sure Tony wouldn’t believe him anyway. But most of all: it wasn’t his secret to tell. “Listen, I can’t tell you what’s behind that shield, only that it’s certainly not Hydra. I need you to trust me on this.”_

_Tony snorted, turning his head away. He crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively before he looked at Steve again._

_“You expect me to trust you, but_ you _don’t trust_ me _with whatever is going on there.”_

 _The other man suddenly sagged. His shoulders hunched with a heavy sigh and he rubbed a hand across his eyes. And Steve realized that he was tired._ Really _tired, not just the usual ‘I haven’t slept in 36 hours because an idea kept me awake’-tired but the bone-weary kind. When he looked up there was no defiance in his gaze, no anger, nothing of the cocky bastard he liked to play. Only the real Tony was left. Open and exhausted and hurt._

_“I thought we’re friends.”_

_That stung._

_Steve swallowed against the lump of regret in his throat. “You_ are _my friend, Tony. At least I’d like to think so. But so is Bucky. And so is Jefferson.”_

_The “you make it pretty hard being your friend right now” stood between them, unspoken but just as present as if he’d voiced it._

_Tony sighed, resigned – an action that seemed just wrong on him. “Just tell me this: do I have to worry?”_

_He shook his head, wishing for the furious billionaire from five minutes ago. He could cope with that, but he couldn’t cope with the despondent version in front of him._

_“No. I promise.”_

The song changed to one with a faster tune.

Bucky adapted immediately. Jefferson stumbled a moment, but his twin easily got him back on track and led him expertly. Steve would’ve smiled had he not noticed the increasingly darker look on his friend’s face right then. The crease of concentration was back between his eyebrows and he pressed his lips together.

His hopes immediately fell again. He’d really, _really_ hoped the combination of familiar music with an activity that he’d loved would light a spark.

From one second to the next Bucky let go and took a step back, his arms pressed against his side and his good hand clenched into a fist. The muscles along his jaw worked as he pressed it shut with force, an ominous darkness clouding his eyes.

Jefferson, who’d been in the middle of a twist, stumbled without the steadying hand, only regaining his footing as he crashed against the bar. He spun around, irritated.

“What the hell? What was that for?”

Bucky threw his hands in the air, the wings of his nose flared, “This is pointless!”

The smaller man squared his shoulders and stepped up to his brother, shouting right back, “So you just let me fall?”

Steve jumped off the armrest of the armchair and hurried over, ready to get in the middle of a looming fight.

“I’ve got enough of this!” Bucky spat. He raised his hand but Steve was faster.

No matter what his friend had intended to do, he closed his hand around the metal arm as a warning.

The ringing of a phone startled them all. With more force than necessary Jefferson yanked it out of his jeans. He looked onto the display and left without another word. A few seconds later the loud bang of a door sounded and the ringing stopped. Sighing he turned his attention back towards his friend.

Only to set eyes on the very epitome of frustration. Bucky’s head was bowed, his eyes squeezed shut and his hand buried deep into his hair, balled into a fist. The air around him seemed to vibrate with anger and disappointment.

“I just can’t grasp it! I know I’ve done this before. I can _feel_ it. I can even see their faces now and then. But there are no names, no places, there’s no connection to anything else! Just- _nothing_!”

It hurt him to see his friend suffer like that.

_But that’s not nothing! Why can’t you see that?_

“Buck…” he started, unsure what to say or how to help, but he gave his arm a small nudge, hoping to get his attention that way.

He did.

The other man straightened abruptly and jerked away, effectively slapping his arm away with his metal one. Upset, he waved his hand around in an encompassing gesture – Steve just wasn’t sure if he was indicating their improvised dancefloor, the whole apartment or just everything in general.

“THIS. ISN’T. WORKING!“

Steve just watched. He’d never felt this helpless, this lost when facing his friend. Well, maybe that one time he’d realized that the Winter Soldier was actually Bucky.

He had no idea what to do.

_“Have you ever tried something tangible? I mean, something that carries meaning to him but that he can actually touch?”_

Of course he’d thought of that long before Sam had asked him. They’d tried everything else. Listening to familiar music, tasting and smelling familiar food and at his trip to the museum he’d gotten all the visual stimuli from the exhibits. He’d love to place something of emotional value into Bucky’s hands so that he could feel it in the hopes of triggering more than a familiar feeling. But there was nothing left. Everything he could think of and that had survived those 70 years was in the museum. The only thing left that had at least a tiny connection to his friend was his shield. The shield Bucky had taken up on that train to protect him. The shield Bucky had held the day Steve had lost him.

It had been a lifetime ago and yet it felt almost as if it had happened just yesterday.

_A lifetime._

_Yesterday._

_Wait…_

A whole new idea struck him. One he’d never thought about before but that made perfect sense. He looked at Bucky, at the wild and desperate expression in his eyes.

“Maybe…”

The other’s head shot up immediately and Steve realized his mistake. He hadn’t thought this through.

 _You idiot! Couldn’t you hold your tongue a while longer and_ think _first?_

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s- really, it’s a bad idea. Just forget-,“ he tried to backpedal.

Of course Bucky was having none of it.

“What? Steve! Tell me!“

He did it again, the mistake. He looked at his friend and saw that pained expression. Lost and fierce at once. And ever since that moment on the helicarrier he wanted nothing more than to get rid of that look. He wanted the mischievous glint back, the sly yet charming smile.

“There might be something else…”

Bucky frowned.

If he hadn’t felt so conflicted about this, he might have noticed that the former Hydra assassin seemed just as conflicted at hearing this.

“I’ll be right back.”

Steve left the room. The soft noises of a one-sided conversation could be heard from inside the yoga-room. He ignored it and headed for the bedroom where he searched through his stuff. Merely a moment later he was back, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

_This is the worst idea you’ve ever had!_

Bucky just stood there, a bit more at ease than a few minutes ago, with his hands inside the pockets of his black hoodie but he was still visibly tense. His gaze was fixed on the brown folder in Steve’s hands.

He stepped closer, unsure, but still- what else could he do?

“I didn’t want to show you this, but maybe… This whole time we tried to rouse your memories of our time together, but-,“ His mouth suddenly felt dry as a desert. “They erased your memory so many times, maybe the newer ones are easier to unlock. I don’t know-“

He broke off as words failed him. Instead he held out the folder, all the while biting his lip. It was too late now to get back.

Bucky looked at it, frozen in place. His eyes didn’t move from the item in his hand. He raised his own hand, hesitated, then grabbed for the folder. His hand was shaking and his Adam’s apple bobbing. The carefully blank expression on his face made Steve nervous.

He couldn’t help but remember the moment when Jefferson had held that file in his hands. He’d visibly beaten himself up over the question of looking inside or not. Bucky was clearly fighting a similar battle, only his battle grounds were kept inside, hidden from sight.

There was movement. The dark-haired man seemed to compose himself and slowly opened the folder. The picture of Bucky’s face in the cryo-unit came into view, its dark and blue colors fitting its meaning perfectly. His breath hitched. His whole body went rigid.

The brown folder slipped his fingers and tumbled to the floor. Protocols, lab notes, pictures, all spreading out on the floor at his feet.

Only the harsh breathing of his friend could be heard. The haunted look in his eyes terrified Steve more than he was willing to admit.

_You did this! Dammit, how could you be so stupid?_

_Or- or is he remembering?_

_Is it working?_

He couldn’t help but feel excited at this unexpected flicker of hope. Terrified still, but excited.

“Bucky?“

“No!”

It was barely a whisper between his harsh breaths. Steve heard it anyway.

“Do you- do you remember?” he asked tentatively.

“No!”

This time it was louder. He felt crushed nonetheless by its meaning.

Bucky turned away from the mess at his feet, away from the jumbled reminder of years of torture and captivity. Away from Steve.

_This was a bad idea._

_A BAD IDEA._

“I’m sorry. This wasn’t-”

“NO!”

Steve frowned. “Bucky, are you-“

“ _NO!_ ” He wasn’t shouting, but his voice was practically vibrating with intensity.

He stepped closer. “Buck? You’re fright-“

“No more.”

In an instant he crossed the last remaining distance between them and carefully placed one hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Worried” wasn’t nearly strong enough to describe what he was feeling right now.

The moment his hand connected with his shirt, Bucky violently jerked away from him the second time in less than 15 minutes. Again he pushed the hand away as he spun around, only this time with much more force. It would leave a bruise on his wrist.

He felt instantly thrown back onto the helicarrier, as he’d tried to remind his friend of who he really was. The Bucky in front of him looked just as wild and angry and desperately fighting to keep the world he knew from tumbling to pieces.

“ _No more_! I’m sick of it! All of it! I’m sick of this music, sick of talking, sick of wracking my brain for nothing. I’m sick of the pain! I don’t _want_ to remember! I don’t, I really don’t! Not if all it ever brings me is more pain. More of the monster!”

Every single word hit him like a slap in the face. Or a punch in the gut. He couldn’t tell the difference, he was too stunned, too shocked.

“You’re not a monster,” he protested, because it was the only thing his mind was able to comprehend right now.

Bucky laughed.

It sent chills down his spine.

“Really? _Really_? Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed? _How many_ I’ve slaughtered?”

He felt as if time had sped up while he was suddenly stuck in slow-motion. There seemed to be so much more meaning in everything his friend said but there wasn’t enough time for him to even begin to work it out before the next hit came.

“That wasn’t you.”

“Don’t you get it?” Bucky shouted. “I _WANTED_ to do those things. I thought I did the right thing. They made me believe it. They-“

Suddenly their timelines converted again and it all made sense. A shocking sense.

“You remember!” he gasped, not caring if he interrupted him or not.

This was huge. And Bucky didn’t even flinch. But he was trembling, high on adrenaline, itching to _do_ something, but a bit more composed than before.

“Enough to know that I don’t want to remember anything else! I can’t… _Don’t look at me like that_!” he exploded again, this new bout of rage laced with clearly discernible pain.

Steve’s mouth fell open in confusion. Seeing his best friend getting eaten alive by his inner turmoil was killing him.

He’d had no idea. Bucky had never said anything, had never shown any sign…

_The nightmares. Of course!_

Where Jefferson’s nightmares had been subsiding so far Bucky’s seemed to increase. Why had he been so stupid and hadn’t put the pieces together? Why had he never pressed him for an answer?

 _Dammit_!

 _But he_ remembers!

“ _STOP IT!_ ” The scream was almost shrill. Not angry but desperate. “Stop the sad puppy eyes that want their friend back. I’m not that man anymore! He’s gone, Steve! _Your_ Bucky is _dead_!”

Steve couldn’t breathe. Not with his heart torn to shreds. Again.

His eyes followed the quickly fleeing dark hoodie and long hair. The movement drew his eyes towards the figure next to the door, pale and wide-eyed. Jefferson was back.

_How long is he standing…_

“Bucky!” he called.

Only when a hand pressed against his chest and another clamped around his arm to stop him did he realize that he was heading after him.

“Don’t. Let him- let him blow off some steam.”

_Your Bucky is dead!_

_Dead!_

_Dead!_

Someone was talking. He paid no attention.

Bucky didn’t mean that, right?

_I’m not that man anymore! He’s gone._

He felt the hand on his arm squeeze gently before it pulled him along. The movement jerked him partly out of his daze. The living room gained reality and felt solid again. He followed Jefferson blindly, still paralyzed.

“Sit down.” He did. “Are you alright? I’ve never seen you this pale before.”

Steve blinked.

_Are you alright?_

Of course he wasn’t alright? How could he?

_Your Bucky is dead._

Realization came with a vengeance, forcing him to take a deep breath.

“I pushed him too much,” he said to Jefferson who sat on the couch table right in front of him. “I shouldn’t have shown him the file. Stupid. So damn stupid! I had no idea that he remembers Hydra. I… But I had nothing else. Sam said something touchable that carries memories. But all that’s left is in the museum and I thought- I thought those old memories have been wiped clean so many times, maybe something newer would-“

He knew he was rambling yet he couldn’t stop. He felt too lost, as if his remaining connection with Bucky would somehow break completely if he stopped talking.

A warm touch at his bare forearms stopped the words and he saw Jefferson’s face hover right in front of him. His face so achingly similar, his eyes however were filled with compassion.

“It’s not your fault!”

“Of course it is. I showed him-“

The other man interrupted him by squeezing his arms again then letting him go. “He’s frustrated, Steve. We all are. This whole situation isn’t easy. Emotions are bound to boil over in an atmosphere like that. I’m certainly no saint either. But it’s worse for him.”

“God,” Steve sighed. He leaned forwards and buried his head in his hands, clawing his nails in his scalp for a moment. To punish himself or to get rid of the ever present “your Bucky is dead”, he didn’t know for sure. Slowly he raised his head and let his hands slide along his face until they covered only his nose and mouth.

Jefferson sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing on it for a moment as he considered his next words carefully it seemed.

“Maybe he’s right, you know?”

He looked up. That wasn’t what he’d expected and it was even less what he wanted to hear.

“It’s his decision. His life. And it’s hard to ignore that he’s struggling more and more each day. Maybe it’s time for a new agenda. Maybe it’s time we stop trying so hard to chase the past and start living the present. Maybe it’s time to accept the situation and take him the way he is now.”

His hands fell down to his knees with a smacking sound and he felt his face harden in disdain as red hot consternation mixed with anger pumped through his whole being.

“That’s easy for _you_ to say,” he spat, “after all, he remembers _you_ perfectly!”

With one quick motion he was on his feet and stepped towards the window, the need to get away from the other man too much to bear. He crossed his arms tightly, not trusting himself with the force of his own emotions right now.

“Jarvis! The window!” he snapped.

At once the glass lost its milky texture and became transparent again, revealing the bustling city beneath. Seeing the vast grew sky out there, the endless rows of buildings that filled everything right up to the horizon, the cars and people, hurrying about, he suddenly felt small and insignificant. And-

A motion caught his eyes, drawing them to the rooftop of the closest building – an office block with lots of attorney’s offices if memory served right. Grateful for the distraction his mind slipped easily into soldier mode. Still upset, and now wary, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the rooftop for abnormalities, for movement. For anything out of the ordinary.

There was nothing. Nothing at all. And certainly nothing that would justify being more important than this conversation. God, he almost wished for a sniper or something to take his mind off of- _this_. But there was nothing and he had to focus again.

This was about Bucky. Not him.

And with that realization his anger lost its power. He let his shoulders slump and rubbed his forehead.

Jealousy had no place here. And neither did envy.

Well, he couldn’t deny that it stung like hell that Jefferson was able to share something with Bucky that he could not. Not in the same way. But he could at least apologize for acting like an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did. And you’ve got every right to,” the other man said calmly. “You two were very close. I know how much that hurts. But all that you’ve shared with him is still there on some level, otherwise he wouldn’t trust you the way he does.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment and sighed as if the weight of the whole world pressed down on him. It certainly felt that way. Was it so wrong to want more than just trust? After everything Bucky had been through it should fill him with pride that that trust had survived and yet he wanted _more_.

“You’re right. It’s his decision. I just- I’m so happy to have him back, to have him with me, alive and safe and… I saw that he was struggling. I still see that he gets more erratic every day, that he’s got trouble sleeping and- I just thought… I guess I got carried away by his enthusiasm to get his memories back. I started to hope. God, I’ve been so _selfish_!”

He leaned his head back, fighting to keep his emotions in check. With another heavy, dejected sigh he turned. Jefferson was still sitting on the table, looking at him with a soft smile of painful sympathy. It let him hope that he actually understood.

He carried on, unwilling, but the words too heavy to carry them alone. “I just miss him sometimes…”

_The Bucky from before._

He wasn’t prepared for the brutal hit of the truth as it slammed right into him.

_Oh my God, Bucky was right. I want him back the way I remember him._

How could he even expect him to be the same as before after everything?

_I’m not that man anymore!_

Of course he wasn’t.

Hell, he himself had changed quite a lot since then.

He’d woken up in another century for crying out loud with all his friends and loved ones dead, his purpose gone. Things like that change you. But even before that he’d changed. Turned from a skinny nobody to Captain America. He’d just presented his friend with a fait accompli and Bucky had smiled, a bit unsure maybe, but he’d accepted it anyway.

And now they were here and their situation was reversed. And he hadn’t even tried to get to know this new Bucky. He hadn’t smiled and accepted the change.

The relentless fingers of guilt slowly squeezed his heart even tighter than before.

_Why can I never do right by him?_

Jefferson was suddenly right next to him, staring out at the city for a moment before he looked sideways at him, a lopsided smile on his lips.

“He’s just there, you know? You only have to give him a chance.”

“It’s not that simple.” He wasn’t just talking about pushing his own wishes and hopes back – he knew he could do that, he would do anything for Bucky – no, he was mostly thinking about something else. “Tony will never let him leave if I can’t prove to him that Bucky Barnes is still in there. That Hydra is no longer controlling him. And I don’t know if I can do that without him remembering who he was before.”

A warm hand gripped his shoulder and when he glanced sideways he saw the other’s rare confident smile.

“One problem at a time, Steve. We’ll deal with Tony when the time comes.”

It sounded so naturally, so without doubt – the “we” still resounding in his mind – that he couldn’t help but see an almost identical man gripping his shoulders, saying the words that should define their friendship throughout the decades, “I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.”

 

 

 

The soldering iron still in his hand Tony watched as the shoulder casing slid smoothly back into place. A tired smile graced his lips as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. It was done.

“Time to take you out on the test range, baby,” he winked at the new armor in front of him, but his playful tone sounded fake, even to his own ears.

Who was he trying to lead on here, anyway?

_I need you to trust me in this._

_Just tell me this: do I have to worry? – No. I promise._

No matter Steve’s assurances, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had settled in his guts. This whole thing was too big, too messy. And with too many unknown variables. He wanted to trust Steve, but it was hard to hold onto it while that feeling of betrayal gnawed away at his insides.  Trust him, while he knew that at the same time he wasn’t worthy of the blond’s trust in return.

So he’d dug deeper into the Swan trail and found out that she’d been living here in New York not too long ago. Together with her son, Henry. Another name from the list that never strayed too far from his thoughts these days. But then they vanished again. Behind that infernal dome, no question. No matter how he rocked the boat, though, there was nothing about that woman that indicated a connection to Hydra or any other secret organization that could possibly pull this off.

_It’s not Hydra. Steve said so._

But who else?

He’d double checked his data on the force field. Had triple checked it and then re-watched the video and started his analysis all over again. The data stayed the same. That thing was flawless. There was absolutely no way to put it down or deflect it or weaken it enough in one spot to get at least a glimpse inside. Whoever had designed this was a genius, one that – he grudgingly had to admit – trumped his own.

_Science and magic. They are the same thing._

He shook his head against the unwelcome voice of Thor in his mind. With a sigh that quickly turned into a groan he threw the soldering iron onto the workbench and headed for the bar. He needed a drink. Damn, he deserved one after hours of tinkering with his new and improved suit. The taste of the 16 year old scotch barely registered with him, only the pleasant burning of heat that seemed to calm his nerves a little bit. And the protest of his empty stomach which he ignored.

Working on a new prototype had kept him busy. Body and mind alike. And a new model that should be able to absorb great outbursts of energy directed at it and either diffuse it instead of being fried or, even better, implement it into its own power source if the energy was compatible would certainly be an enormous blow in the face of his enemies. At least if his test run wouldn’t blow into his face first.

_If it works there won’t be any thrown around by the force field anymore. Maybe I can modify the suit in a way to make the force field think it’s a part of it… If the suit would give off similar energy readings… maybe emitting absorbed energy… that could work if… I’d need to reroute the power outlets… and maybe… mmh… I need the specifications again…_

He took another gulp of scotch and stepped over to a multitude of screens that hung in the air. With bored ease he flicked some schematics aside, pushed equations away and balled discarded ideas together and threw them into the virtual trash can. With each new screen his movements grew more irritated the longer his enthusiasm about his new idea was hindered. Dammit, those force field specifications had to be _somewhere_!

Cursing loudly he grabbed a whole bunch of screens and shoved them out of the way – and out of the area that was able to sustain holographic images. They simply vanished, stored away by Jarvis, but ultimately out of his sight. His anger didn’t. And yes, he was angry! The agitated note to his movements and the soft trembling of his hands had nothing to do with nervousness. Or uncertainty. Or _that there was a danger looming out there that he knew nothing about and couldn’t prepare for and-_

Tony closed his eyes and balled his fists.

_Specifications. Make the suit part of the force field._

He forced his thoughts back on track. He needed to go on and keep himself busy. He needed at least to _feel_ like he was doing something to be prepared.

After taking a deep breath he opened his eyes again. Only to look directly at one of the remaining screens. But it weren’t the force field specifications. It was Jarvis’ updated list of key words regarding his guests – Cinderella and the Mad Hatter had been added to the fairytale-column, the one that he didn’t dare think about because it was the craziest of them all.

Against his will his eyes fell onto that one word again that penetrated his thoughts more and more often these last days: magic.

It was stupid and crazy and absolutely impossible. And yet he couldn’t shake this queasy feeling that made his guts crawl. Something wasn’t-

“Sir, there seems to be a commotion in Rura Penthe.”

_Great. Another one._

His shoulders tensed on instinct. “Show me.”

The video-feed opened up. The strained voices filled the workshop even before his eyes could take in the image of Rogers and Barnes in the living room, in the middle of a heated argument. Or more like a one-sided argument. The assassin was clearly agitated.

_Come on, Vader, show Steve your dark side!_

And he watched. Watched Steve’s desperate attempt to make a connection with the other man. Watched as Barnes shouted into the face of his friend – or whatever the blond was these days. At first he thought this display yet another piece of the Hydra agents master plan and acting skills. But something about that idea felt off. The frustration and desperation in his voice rattled something in him. Made him pause.

“Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed? _How many_ I’ve slaughtered?”

“I _WANTED_ to do those things. I thought I did the right thing. They made me believe it.”

“You remember!” 

 “Enough to know that I don’t want to remember anything else!”

Tony could only stare at the screen. He wasn’t sure what fucked him up more: the hope in Steve’s voice or the “they made me believe it”.

It made no sense.

_Maybe some parts of Barnes survived after all. Maybe…_

“I’m not that man anymore! He’s gone, Steve! _Your_ Bucky is _dead_!”

His jaw set in a grim line as he watched the killer flee the room. With a quick gesture he switched the volume off and pushed the screen aside, his movements jerky and tense. He’d seen enough.

He pushed himself up while clanking his glass onto the table. That damn bastard! He’d almost made him doubt. Almost. He needed to be more careful.

At least now it was only a question of time. He’d said it himself. Now Steve only needed to see the truth as well.

_Your pal is dead, Rogers!_

_Accept it and I can finally get rid of one of my problems!_

Shaking his head he pushed another screen away to finally spot the force field specifications.

_There you are! Time to figure out how to trick you._

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to remind you again:  
> no chapter tomorrow! Sorry!
> 
> Next chapter will be up on Saturday:  
> Part Four: Overload - It Starts with Blue Knitwear


	13. Part Four: Overload - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after Bucky's outburst and Jefferson tries to pick up the pieces with an idea of his own. Not knowing if he'll make it better or even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, wasn't trying to deceive you about today's chapter.  
> I just got - very unexpectedly - home from work a bit earlier and now have half an hour before I have to be off again.  
> And I thought, since circumstances were nice to me, I'm nice to you, too, and give you another chapter today!

**Part Four: Overload**

It Starts with Blue Knitwear

 

And again he was alone.

Jefferson looked down at the blueprints on the table. They showed a spacious room with a door on one side and just one window on the opposite side. It opened up to the wide area right in front of his house where hiding was harder than in the forest on the other side. The perfect room for his brother. So far it hadn’t been used at all. He had so many ideas about the furnishing.

He wondered if Bucky would ever get a chance to even step foot into his house, let alone have his own room.

At least the trouble in Storybrooke was over, well, mostly over. Victor had called him yesterday to tell him that they’d captured the Snow Queen. It was only a matter of time now.

With a sigh – had he always sighed this much? – he turned away from the big table and headed for the electric kettle to make himself a cup of tea.

The atmosphere in the apartment was oppressing.

Bucky hadn’t come out of his room yesterday. His door had been barricaded from the inside to keep unwanted visitors out.

And Steve had started brooding as he found out. Sitting on the couch or staring out of the window, troubled and clearly restless even though he barely moved. And without doubt feeling even guiltier than before. Just being in the same room had been suffocating. So when the blond had asked tentatively, as if he’d hurt his feelings by merely mentioning it, if it was okay if he went outside for a while to clear his head, Jefferson hadn’t hesitated a second. He’d practically pushed him out the door.

In certain ways it had been even worse today.

The dark shadows under Bucky’s eyes had been even more pronounced, telling tales about the quality of his sleep that night, if he’d had any to begin with. He’d been pale and quiet, almost withdrawn, and Steve had been walking on eggshells around him the whole day. Nonetheless, whenever Steve stepped foot into the room Bucky left. He was willing to talk with his brother but even then he changed topics or stood up and left as soon as Jefferson mentioned either the blond or anything regarding his lost memories.

Just moments ago he’d been chatting with Bucky about his favorite colors to get a feeling how to design his room. He’d just contemplated bringing him into the loop about his plans and showing him the blueprints when Steve had entered. Now Bucky was in his room again and he could hear Steve taking out his guilt and frustration on the punching bag.

He knew how hard it was, watching someone you love when that someone doesn’t remember you. But Bucky remembered enough to know that there had been a deep connection between them. One that he couldn’t reach anymore. One that Steve craved. It was a mess.

Jefferson wondered what’s worse. This half-and-half situation between the other two or the complete lack of anything that he’d faced with Grace. He really couldn’t tell.

At least when he’d been separated from Grace he’d had her toys and her baby blanket to hold on to, to hide in and breathe in the shared memories that saturated those things. A luxury – a consolation – Steve never had. The small keepsakes, all the things that connected him with his past were part of an exhibition. On display for everyone but completely out of his _reach_.

_That’s it! Keepsakes!_

He almost burned his hand as the scalding water poured over the rim of the mug. Quickly he put the kettle down, cursing while he battled the mess he’d made. But the thought never let him go.

 

 

 

An hour later he knocked at the yoga-room. When he got no answer he opened it and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Steve was in the middle of a series of push-ups and even though sweat stained his shirt and dotted his face and bare arms he made it seem easy and effortless. The blond stopped in the middle of his movements and raised an eyebrow.

“Hi, I- do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” The soldier stood up with a grace that made Jefferson envious. In that condition he wouldn’t have been able to form words let alone stand there without wheezing his lungs out. Steve grabbed a towel and rubbed his face and neck dry.

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday…”

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to begin judging from the unease displayed in the blond’s suddenly nervous posture.

“… about having memories to _touch_. You said all your stuff’s at the museum, but I thought you couldn’t be the only person with stuff from the past. So- um- I talked with Jarvis and he found some of Bucky’s relatives. His nephew to be precise. A Frederick Proctor. He’s living here in New York and I- well- I called him.”

“You did _what_?” Steve looked absolutely bewildered. And strangely insecure.

It made Jefferson doubt for a moment if he’d done the right thing.

“Well, I couldn’t tell him who I am so I said I’m working for you, trying to find some of your old stuff.” A small laugh escaped his lips. “The guy was pretty stunned when he heard your name. Anyway, as it turns out this guy’s mother, a Rebecca Proctor, had a box with keepsakes of her brother, of Bucky, including some things their mother had kept as well. She died a few months ago. This Rebecca, I mean. And the guy said he had no idea what to do with this stuff. The contents meant a lot to her but hold no significance to him. He said his mother would want for you to have it. All you need to do is go there and pick it up.”

Jefferson drummed his fingers against his thigh, nervously waiting for a reaction.

Steve merely blinked in shock, his mouth forming a silent “O”. The only thing that left his lips was a whispered “Bucky”. Or was it “Becky”?

He licked his lips. “I don’t know, maybe- maybe Bucky is up for one last try. I could go and talk to him. But even if he isn’t, I thought you might want to have some things of your past together?”

The other man shook his head in disbelief – or denial? “Why did _I_ never think of that?”

He shrugged. “You had enough on your mind already, I guess.”

Steve bit his lips, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile.

And the next moment Jefferson found himself in a tight embrace, enclosed by countless pounds of strong muscle and a heartfelt “thank you”.

He was moved. More than he cared to admit.

“Urgh, Steve!” he gasped, trying to get out of the other man’s grip again, laughing all the while. “You’re sticky and you stink!”

 

 

 

This time as he refilled his mug Jefferson didn’t let anything – not even his thoughts – distract him enough to flood the kitchen again. The fresh and invigorating smell of the herbal tea tickled his nose just as he heard the door. The front door. His gaze fell on his watch while he listened to the approaching footsteps.

_He really lost no time, huh?_

_Well, I can’t hold it against him._

He turned around, leaning against the counter just as Steve stepped into the room, a small wooden chest in his hands. It was a beautiful thing. Made out of dark wood with metal edgings and a domed lid. The whole thing was roughly twice the size of an ordinary shoe box. The blond placed it on the round kitchen table, careful to not put it on his homemade blueprints and schematics. He smiled at Jefferson.

“Thanks again. This was really a great idea.”

The former portal jumper shrugged it off, a tiny bit embarrassed by the repeated praise. Instead he turned back to his tea, threw the tea bag away and stepped up to the table, mug in his hands.

“How was it? Meeting him?”

Steve shrugged out of his jacket with a thoughtful expression and placed it on the backrest of one of the chairs.

“Strange. He was a nice guy. Polite, maybe a bit _too_ nervous meeting Captain America, but… well. He was _old_ , Jefferson. And the pictures everywhere, I-,“ he stopped, frowning, and turned around, slowly.

Puzzled he followed his movement to see Bucky standing in the opening to the hallway.

 _How is he_ doing _that? Creeping up on people like that?_

His brother just stood there, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. His lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. It seemed forced though. Everything about him screamed “I don’t want to be here” and yet here he was, voluntarily.

He’d talked with him right after Steve had left, which had been merely a shower and a short phone call after their conversation in the yoga-room. Bucky had stayed silent most of the time, his eyes distant and clouded, but he had surprised him with a clipped, yet positive answer.

“So this is it?” Bucky asked, his voice eerily flat. His gaze was fixed on the chest.

Steve nodded. “Winnie, um, your mother, she started it. She kept a few things in memory of you. Guarded them quite fiercely I’ve been told. When she died your sister carried on the tradition and filled the chest with her own things. Becky is dead, Buck. But she would want you to have it. I’m sure of it. Well, if you want it that is.”

Jefferson didn’t dare move, let alone say something. The whole room suddenly bristled with tension and Steve’s words, the image they’re painting, formed a lump in his throat. There was a whole other family that had been devastated by Bucky’s death. And to them it had been _death_ , not disappearance or captivity or losing him to an unknown fate. They’d thought him dead. His parents and his sister.

 _There’s a whole other_ family _who loved him as one of their own!_

That thought suddenly struck him real hard. He knew he should be sorry for them, should be happy that his brother had found a happy place to grow up, not full of bitterness like his own childhood. And yet the first reaction was a wave of envy and possessiveness washing over him.

 _He is_ my _brother!_ My _family, not theirs!_

Quickly he put his tea down and gathered his maps to make more room. And to keep his hands busy. He was ashamed with himself for his own egoistic thoughts and avoided eye contact, at least until he got his emotions back under control again.

“Let’s do this.”

He flinched at the way Bucky said it. As if he needed to encourage himself to go through with this. As if he couldn’t wait to be over with it.

_Why did he say yes if he’s that uncomfortable? Why…_

_Oh, dammit, this is all your fault, Jefferson. Your stupid idea! You should never have suggested it. Should never have acted so rashly._

He saw movement out of the corner of his eyes and as he heard the sound of a key rattling inside a keyhole he let his layouts be and paid attention again. No matter the circumstances, inside that box was a part of his brother’s life. And he wanted to know everything.

Steve paused for a second then opened the chest and folded the lid back.

A dry smell reached his nostrils, like paper and dust and wood. It immediately evoked images of an old attic with creaky floorboards, full of boxes and half-forgotten stuff hidden under dusty sheets. So he – unlike Steve obviously– wasn’t expecting to see a big, fluffy cloud of wool.

The blond reached for the piece of blue knitwear only to stop an inch above it as if he didn’t dare to touch. When he finally grabbed it, he did so carefully. Whatever it was, it certainly meant something to Steve.

Jefferson startled a bit as the blue ball of wool suddenly flew through the air. Bucky, equally surprised, caught it on instinct.

“It still matches your eyes,” the blond grinned, as if he’d made an inside joke.

He closely watched his brother straightening out the blue thing, frowning the whole time. It turned out to be a scarf. Hand-knitted most likely. Bucky gently rubbed the material between his fingers, stroked with his flat hand along its length before he put it aside, his mouth pinched.

“Why did they put the scarf in?”

He couldn’t tell if his brother really wanted to know or if he was humoring them. An unfriendly reminder that he didn’t know his own twin as well as he would’ve liked.

“Your mother made it for you. She used to either wrap it around you or rearrange it to what she perceived as neat and proper. You hated it. The rearranging, not the scarf.” Steve laughed. “But whenever she told you how handsome you were you actually got all shy and embarrassed.”

Jefferson just had to grin. The scarf was quite long so it hadn’t been for a young boy. And imagining the man in front of him in his late teens, his mother picking at his wardrobe and then complimenting him until he blushed… it was too cute. Their real mother had never done anything the like. Maybe she would have, if…

_Don’t go there! There’s nothing to gain._

Looking at his brother made his grin fade anyway. The scarf meant nothing to him. And yet again he realized with a pang how unfair it was. There were so many wonderful things in his past – not just Hydra, not just pain – but they were out of his reach, hidden behind barred doors.

He had to look away. That’s when he spotted the crumpled piece of colored paper next to the wooden chest. It must have been tangled in the scarf and fallen out.

“What’s this?” he took it and held it up.

The blond shrugged.

Unfurling it the small piece turned out to be a ticket for the Smithonian. The special exhibition to be precise. A picture of Steve in his Captain America outfit was printed on it.

“It must’ve been Becky’s,” the soldier said softly.

Silence fell over the kitchen as each of them stared at the crinkled ticket. No matter if she bought it and never went through with it, but couldn’t throw it away either or if she’d crumpled it afterwards or if she’d clutched it the whole time she’d spent at the exhibition, Jefferson couldn’t imagine how this woman must have felt. He’d learned enough about the exhibition to know that it must have been hard on her.

Steve cleared his throat and the former portal jumper followed that gladly and put the ticket down. Instead Steve leaned over the box and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It gave the impression of being pretty well-thumbed, all covered in wrinkles from too much folding and unfolding. As the blond was about to open it another piece of paper fell out. Darker and thinner.

He immediately snatched it from the edge of the table before it fell further. It was a small article, cut out from a newspaper. From what he could gather from scanning it was that it was about WWII, listing companies that suffered severe losses or were captured by the enemy, including Bucky’s old unit, the 107th. No wonder it was only a tiny article, the headlines had surely praised successes at the front lines. The rustling of paper made him look up. Steve had unfolded the piece of paper and held it out to Bucky. Dark writing as well as some lighter spots where the paper had gotten wet – _Tears! They’re from tears!_ – were visible in the light from the ceiling lamp.

“What is it?” he asked tentatively.

Bucky bit his lip and crossed glances with him for a second. “It’s a letter.”

“What does it say?”

Jefferson flinched the moment the words left his mouth. He didn’t want to come off as sensation-seeking or prying. Or creepy.

After a deep breath Bucky started to read aloud, which was more than Jefferson had expected.

“Hey Mum, hey Dad, hey Becks. I don’t know what you might have heard or if Colonel Phillips has already sent those condolence letters. Don’t listen to it! I’m okay. Really, I’m alright. Promise! So don’t worry! I’ve got Steve to watch my back now. Don’t ask, it’ll be all over the news soon I guess. Love you! Bucky.“

His brother had sent word home after his rescue from the Hydra facility. That’s why the newspaper article was tugged inside. They belonged together. One brought the horrible pain of uncertainty while the other was stained in tears of relief. Seeing these things with his own eyes, holding them, it was nothing like being told what had happened all those years ago by Steve. This felt so much more real. Pain, joy, love – the things inside the box seemed to radiate the emotions that had made them important.

Jefferson placed a hand on the backrest of the chair next to him, just holding on to have some stability against the intensity of that little chest.

Bucky looked up, his eyes jumping from him to Steve and back to the letter in his hands.

“I don’t remember writing this,” he stated, his voice soft and a bit hoarse. He clenched his jaw in annoyance and folded the letter again before he pushed it partly underneath the disregarded scarf.

“You don’t have to do this, Buck.”

He could see that his brother was contemplating Steve’s words, that he was struggling to say something but in the end he didn’t and just shrugged, a half-hearted, false grin on his face.

“What else you got?”

Jefferson knew mulishness when he saw it – he lived with a headstrong teenager after all and the apple didn’t fall far from the tree there – so when Steve hesitated he took it upon himself and grabbed the next best thing from inside the chest. It turned out to be another piece of paper, rolled up and tied together with a string. When he was sure that he had the other’s attention he removed the string and unrolled it.

“It’s one of your sketches,” he exclaimed the second he laid eyes on the first pencil lines. He’d seen so many of them these last weeks that he recognized them at once.

He passed it to the blond who placed it on the table, his fingers holding the edges down.

Bucky stepped closer, the lines on his forehead deepening to a frown. That’s when Jefferson realized it, too. His mouth fell open and he edged closer to get a better view.

The boy on the picture was Bucky. No question. The dark, unruly hair; the lines of his eyebrows, his lips, his nose. He couldn’t be older than his Grace now, but the man from today – the man from his own mirror – was certainly recognizable already behind that young features.

It wasn’t the fact that the sketch showed his brother that made him gawk, though, not even the extraordinary talent displayed – Steve had been the same age as that boy when he drew this and he’d already had an eye for the details – no, it was the pose itself.

Bucky was lying on top of a small wall, his head and shoulders leaning against the side of an adjoining building. One of his legs was pulled up, the other was dangling down. His feet were bare, his soles dirty from running around barefoot for quite some time most likely and his pants rolled up, revealing a scabbed knee. The sleeves of his button-down were rolled up as well and his left hand was inside his pocket while his right was bent as he balanced a small leather ball the size of a baseball on his index finger. His eyes were closed and there was a bored, sluggish smile playing around the corner of his lips. The kind of smile that only came from utter contentment.

_That’s Bucky! He was truly happy once._

He had to blink against the sudden burning in his eyes. “Oh my God.”

It slipped out. A stunned whisper.

He barely noticed the restless shifting in the periphery of his vision, too captivated by the boy from the past.

“You think that’s amazing?” Steve snorted amicably. “He actually managed to fall asleep like that!”

“Maybe you took too long?” Jefferson teased him a bit.

The blond grinned. “I had to throw the ball at him to wake him up. Well, I didn’t _have_ to but it was more fun that way.”

“That’s mean, you know,” he reprimanded the other man but couldn’t keep a straight face throughout.

“Come on, admit it. You would’ve done the same!”

He shrugged in defeat. “Fair enough.”

Steve’s shoulders shook a bit in laughter. “I swear I was aiming for his shoulder, but throwing wasn’t exactly my strong suit back then. I kind of hit him squ…”

“My cheek.”

They froze and stared at Bucky who looked unsure and thoughtful. He was still staring at the picture.

“Bucky?” Steve asked tentatively.

His brother’s frown deepened but he raised his head, his gaze full of questions.

“You hit… my cheek?”

Jefferson didn’t dare breathing.

_He remembers. That’s great. That’s…_

“Yes. Yes, I did,” Steve said, hopefully waiting for more.

Unlike last time he could tell exactly the moment the situation started to spiral downward. Frustration seeped into that questioning gaze, then his brother bowed his head and held his hand against his forehead, pressing the heel of his hand forcefully against it while every muscle in his face, along his neck and shoulders started to tense.

“Dammit. Dammit. _Dammit_!”

“Hey,” Steve raised his hands in a placating manner, “easy there. That’s a start, isn’t it? Don’t push yourself like that.”

Bucky threw his hand down and fiercely glared at the blond. “It makes no difference anyway! I don’t remember! Nothing of it! I just… I couldn’t shake the feeling of something hitting my cheek hard. But no matter how hard I _try_ to recall anything about it, there’s just NOTHING!”

Steve’s shoulders sagged for a second before they straightened again in finality. “Okay, that’s it. We stop this right now.”

“No,” the dark-haired declared with surprising vehemence.

He could feel Steve tense beside him. Quickly Jefferson took a step to the side, positioning himself so that he could easily slip around the blond and throw himself between the two friends before this got out of hand. He never got that far though. Something caught his eye, something inside the chest.

“Bucky?” he breathed.

There must have been something in his tone – maybe it was shock, maybe urgency, maybe something else entirely – because both men fell silent immediately and stared at him. He didn’t acknowledge them, though. Instead he reached into the wooden chest, his heartbeat stumbling every now and then, but his hand was surprisingly still. When he pulled it out again and opened his palm it held a blue stone pendant, with white and black little spots in it, circular with a hole in the middle and a black leather band attached to it.

“Holy cow!”

“But that… that’s… how?”

Neither Steve’s exclamation nor Bucky’s nonplussed stuttering were able to penetrate the expectant silence for long. The room seemed to hold its breath just like Jefferson did before he released it in a disbelieving and joyous gasp.

“It survived. All those years…” He couldn’t put his thoughts into words; too much was running through his mind.

The pendant had been lost. His brother had thrown it away and yet here it was, back with its owner. Not lost at all.

“You’re mother must have found it in the trash can,” Steve mused.

He didn’t really pay attention to him. And neither did his brother.

“Mama gave them to us. So we’d always carry a part of each other. So that we’d never be alone.”

He bit his lips at Bucky’s mumbled words, at the fond smile on his lips. At hearing his mother’s words out of his brother’s mouth.

“And I threw it away.”

Jefferson acted before the face that looked so much like his own and was so foreign sometimes had a chance to fell further. He stretched his hand out, purposefully holding it towards his twin.

“Then it’s about time you take it back, don’t you think?” he said, aiming for a light, cheeky tone, but he failed when he choked up on the last words instead.

Slowly Bucky raised his hand, his eyes seeking his before he crossed the last inches and finally closed his fingers around the pendant again.

 

 

 

A shock of warmth shot through his hand the moment he touched the blue stone, travelled like an electric current along his veins to his wrist and into his arm only to die just as quickly as it had occurred. Startled, he jerked his arm back. But he never let go of the pendant.

“What the…,” he heard his brother stammer. “Did you feel that?”

Bucky nodded absentmindedly. He noticed that Jeff was rubbing his hand.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. It just- _stung_?!“

“Is everything alright?“

He was only listening with half an ear, but he nodded again. Bucky opened his palm and stared at the pendant. The others were discussing what could’ve caused that reaction, however, he already knew.

_Remember, my boys: you’re one soul, divided in two parts, because it was too bright, too special for one being alone. Cause that’s what twins are. And that’s why they’re always stronger together. Now, as long as you’ll keep these stones with you you’ll never be truly alone. You’ll always carry a part of each other with you._

Those words of his mother rang clearly through his mind and told him everything he needed to know.

His mother had been right. By throwing his stone away he’d severed his last connection not just with his family but most of all with his twin. And right now, he’d gotten that back. Had felt it warm his blood. A spark of what once was and what could be again.

_I’m sorry, Mama. I’ve been a fool._

His thumb caressed the blue stone, felt the smooth surface with the same awe as he had when he’d first touched it as a boy under his mother’s smiling eyes. It was getting harder to breathe around the lump in his throat that formed every time he thought of her. His real mother. Her laugh. Her kisses. And her loving embrace.

He longed for that and yet he knew that he could never have it back.

But monsters didn’t deserve the love of a mother anyway.

Bucky coughed slightly, not caring if he interrupted their still ongoing discussion – which he did.

“Jeff? Would you-?” He raised his hand and tilted his head a bit to the side. His brother understood immediately, judging from the way his eyes lit up before he answered and hurried over.

“Of course!”

Carefully Jeff took the pendant from him, waiting for the shock of heat that never came and finally relaxed as nothing happened. A few movements later the blue stone was back where it should be: resting on its spot on his chest. His hand still covered it, needing to feel the coolness that slowly faded as it absorbed the warmth of his skin.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

All of a sudden he felt very aware of their eyes on him and he remembered where he was. And more importantly why.

“Is the chest empty already?”

“What? No.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” He forced his lips into a smile. It was easier now with the almost imperceptible weight around his neck.

As Steve hesitated, uncertainty written all over his face, and Jeff asked if he was sure he merely nodded towards the wooden box. “Go on, let’s finish this.”

There was nothing he wanted less than continuing this pointless charade, this torture of disappointment and false hope.

Well, apart from failing Steve.

_That’s easy for you to say. After all, he remembers you perfectly._

_God, I’ve been so selfish!_

_I just miss him sometimes._

He had heard it all.

After screaming his frustration into Steve’s face, after voicing – shouting – everything that had been brewing inside of him these last weeks, he’d barely made it into the hallway before he’d deflated like a leaky balloon, leaning against the wall breathing heavily. His body had still been vibrating from all that anger pumping through his veins but his mind had only been able to show him the shocked and heartbroken face of Steve. Of his friend.

He hadn’t meant to listen in but he’d felt so shaken and on edge that he didn’t dare move. Hearing Steve berate himself – blaming himself – had stirred something in him, something familiar and yet unused. His jealous outburst had hit him like a punch. He couldn’t say why only that he knew that he had to make up for this, that he had to put this right again. It was just a feeling, deep from the gut like the one that had made him jump after him into the Potomac. And he knew that he had to try again. For Steve.

_Otherwise he wouldn’t trust you the way he does._

He’d really meant what he’d said yesterday but something inside him couldn’t stand seeing Steve hurt like that.

So when Jefferson had come to him earlier and told him of this one last try he’d jumped right at it, ready to give his best one last time, hoping to expel that look from the blond’s eyes, the carefully concealed desperate longing.

Of course it wasn’t working. On the contrary, Steve was going back and forth from walking on eggshells around him and reminiscing with Jeff who seemed quite intrigued by the contents of their shared – and his lost – past.

Steve pulled a small leather ball out of the chest. It looked exactly like the one in the drawing. Maybe it was, he had no idea and he wasn’t paying attention anymore. Looking at that ball made him feel that phantom pain in his cheek again.

Why was everything he remembered always connected with pain?

His brother was talking now, something about a condolence letter, but Bucky couldn’t really concentrate on his words. Deep down he knew _this_ would change nothing.

Steve would never get the friend back that he missed, because he just _wasn’t_ that man anymore.

The nightmares would still torture him at night with the things he’d done in their name and haunting him by day with the horrors he wanted to forget. He couldn’t take anymore of this. He was so damn tired. Of the daily struggle, of the memories he had. Of the memories that were nothing but empty spaces in his mind. He wanted to run away from it all. To never hear from it again.

Damn! He wanted to sleep. Just sleep. For one night at least?

The dreams were getting worse and he couldn’t remember the last night he’d slept for more than two hours at a time.

But he couldn’t watch the devastation in Steve’s face either.

_What shall I do?_

_I just want some peace. Some sleep. I just want to rest._

_But how?_

“There’s something else.“

Bucky blinked, startled out of his gloomy thoughts. Steve reached inside the chest again which looked pretty empty now and pulled on something that seemed stuck somehow. There was a black and white picture of himself – or the man he used to be – proudly posing in his uniform lying on the table now. They must have looked at it while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Got it!”

It seemed to be another photograph. A reminiscent smile immediately graced Steve’s lips and Bucky had to stifle a pained groan.

_I’m only disappointing you again, Steve._

Curious, Jefferson leaned in to get a better look. “What is it?”

He didn’t move. He had no interest in watching another part of a life so completely out of his reach. It would mean nothing to him and when Steve realized it he’d only try – and fail – to hide his sadness again. No, this had been a bad idea. He’d wanted to make it up to his friend but he only made it worse. It was best if he stayed low and kept his mouth shut to not prolong this procedure more than necessary.

“It’s from Becky’s birthday party. She got- she got 14 I think. Bucky spent weeks trying to find someone who actually owned a camera and would take a few pictures at her party. It was the only thing she really wanted and he made it possible. Although if I remember correctly he had to work their garden in return for a month. As payment. Isn’t that right, Buck?”

There it was again, the falsely innocent tone. The hopeful expectation.

He shrugged, unwilling to think about it, to wreck his brain for anything regarding that party he was talking about. It would only lead to more frustration and that would lead to him lashing out again and- it seemed whatever he did he would end up hurting Steve.

“So that’s Bucky – God, you look so young – and this must be Becky. Who are the other ones?”

Steve pointed at different parts of the picture for Jefferson. “These are his parents- well, his adoptive parents, George and Winifred, but everyone called her Winnie. That’s Becky and her best friend Helen.”

“And who’s that skinny… wait… _no way_!”

Steve bit his lips, grinning sheepishly. “Yep,” popping the ‘p’. “That’s me.”

Jefferson’s eyes went up and down between the picture and the man next to him. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a sickly kid, huh?” He laughed and shook his head, before he turned to Bucky. “Seriously, look at that. The change is amazing.”

Irritated with their attitude, with this whole pointless exercise, with his inability to say no, with everything and nothing in particular, he let go of the pendant he was still touching and grabbed the picture with his good hand, rolling his eyes. But he looked at it nonetheless.

Six people, smiling for the camera.

A married couple, a pair of siblings and their best friends.

Bucky blinked. Narrowed his eyes. Looked harder.

_Steve sat with his sketchbook at a table, hands frozen in midair and the most baffled expression on his face._

It came from deep down, without warning. First the corners of his mouth were twitching then his lips were quivering. Then he laughed. A bubbling laugh that felt so out of place, so unfamiliar and so _right_.

“Your face! Your face that day was absolutely priceless!” Still snickering he glanced up, seeing Jefferson’s open mouth.

_Off course, he has no idea!_

So Bucky went on, explaining it to him. “Steve had no money for a birthday present for Becky, so he promised her to draw her. She’d seen some of his sketches and was so excited that she wanted him to do it right there at the party. Well, little whirlwind that she was, Steve  was-, “ he had to chuckle again, “he was despairing over her moving about all the time. When he finally got the nerve to tell her, she just jumped up, her hands at her hips and-“ his shoulders twitched with his suppressed laughter, “and said with her exasperated-diva-voice ‘If you really want to catch my essence you better learn how do draw movement because you cannot _possibly_ expect me to keep still!’ and ran off to dance. You should’ve seen his _face_!”

He couldn’t keep it in any longer, the snorts and laughter just broke free, making him tremble and shake, but in a good way. And it was good. It felt so damn good.

Until he realized that he was the only one laughing.

Confused – and slightly alarmed – he stopped, barely daring to look at them.

Jefferson’s eyes were wide as saucers, brimming with emotion, his hand covering his mouth. Steve had a shaky grin on his face. He was blinking rapidly. Were that tears in his eyes?

_What’s going on? Why are they-_

And then he realized what had just happened.

He had remembered. _Actually_ remembered.

_What-?_

Blinking in confusion he looked down again, catching sight of the drawing again that showed him some time before he’d tumbled to the ground unceremoniously after being startled awake by a ball to the face. His gaze noticed the cozy scarf that had kept him warm through the years and that he’d shared with his friend so many times to keep him from getting sick in the cold winter days.

Bewildered and confused by what was happening he stared back at the picture in his hands. At the people who’d been his family. His life.

And he remembered.

He remembered hearing Becky’s laugh as she twirled around the backyard to the music with her friends. Her lavender dress billowing around her.

He remembered seeing the concentration on Steve’s face as he studied her movements, his pencil dancing over the paper.

It wasn’t just some story he’d been told. It weren’t strangers anymore. This was real.

Remembering this day, he could actually _feel_ the love in his chest that he’d felt at watching his baby sister celebrate.

He could _feel_ the amazement over Steve’s talent again that he’d felt back then at peeking over his shoulder when he’d been drawing her. Could _feel_ the pride of being his friend.

He could remember the happiness of that day.

It was so close he could touch it.

Could bathe in it. Take it in, soak it all up.

The photograph slipped from his trembling fingers.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the unexpected chapter today was to your liking :)
> 
> Tomorrow then (not on Sunday) it's time for my favorite chapter:  
> Part Four: Overload - Spring Tide


	14. Part Four: Overload - Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky remembered something.  
> That's a reason to celebrate, right?  
> That's what our guys thought as well...

**Part Four: Overload**

Spring Tide

 

_Stop! Just STOP!_

Of course they didn’t.

He pulled his knees closer to his chest, curled up in a fetal position.

_That face! Round and soft with its sparse blond hair, hovering, right above him yet out of reach. Lights reflected of his glasses and all he could see was that ugly red bow-tie, because he couldn’t face that gleeful smile._

His eyes were pressed shut tightly and his hand balled into a fist. But this was nothing he could just block out. Or fight.

_Explosions everywhere. Fire below. And the only beam gone. With Steve still on the other side. He couldn’t leave him. Never! “No, not without you!”_

“Please…”

It was nothing but a pathetic whimper. A plea towards no one in particular, ‘cause no one would hear him. A plea towards the universe. A plea for mercy.

His mind was a mess. A big jumble of faces and scenes and moments and orders, coming back all at once.

Ever since watching that fateful photograph this afternoon he got more and more glimpses into his past. He’d been stunned and confused and so damn happy to get his life back. To remember his sister. Her pearling laugh and her vitality.

To remember Steve.

Oh God, he finally remembered _Steve_!

His cheekiness and his golden heart.

_“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” “How could I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”_

They’d savored this wondrous memory recovery together. Had celebrated and marveled and laughed. And reminisced of course. Delighted with every new trifle that aroused another memory.

Steve had been irritated when Jarvis had alerted him of the current newsflash. There’d been a gas explosion in an apartment building in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Several people were still trapped inside the remaining buildings; others were buried by the rubble. Mostly young families.

Stark usually helped out at such events but he was in Ohio at the moment at a Stark Industries event and therefore unavailable for quick help as Jarvis stated. Steve hadn’t needed much coaxing from Jefferson and him – just the insurance that he was okay – then he had left in a hurry.

That’s when the headache had begun to trouble him.

_You’ll get the rent, I promise. Just, please, just give me another week?_

He’d withdrawn to his room, saying good night to his still smiling brother. But the quiet of his bed hadn’t helped. Nor had lying down and resting.

_“I look ridiculous.” Steve was right. The scarf and cap Bucky’s mother had knitted looked bulky on Steve. “You look warm! So stop complaining and move your ass outside! 1940 begins only once!”_

Suddenly every smell, every touch or thought, everything he looked at, just about everything at all seemed to bring back memories. Even memories triggered new memories. What had begun as a trickle a few hours ago had quickly escalated into a spring tide.

It was dizzying.

_But I knew him._

And it made him afraid.

Because he couldn’t make it stop.

Because he felt like losing himself all over again.

Because for all the good things that came back to him even more bad stuff came back as well.

_He was cold and disoriented, like always when waking up in the cryo-unit. Ready to await orders. Eager for a mission, for doing his part in the great plan. Contributing his skills. Focusing on something different than the discomforting void in his head._

“Gnnnrg,” he groaned.

The flood of pictures only got worse.

Bucky curled up tighter, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, one hard and cold the other softer and clammy. He didn’t feel the difference, didn’t care for it. He just pressed them against his eyes, harder and harder until it hurt. Until the darkness behind his lids was flashing with white sparks.

 _He was numb. Heavy and dizzy and numb. His head fell to the side, eyes blinking blearily. And he saw an arm. Or what’s left of it. Ragged flesh and bloody snow. His arm was gone. His arm! Was_ gone _! His body wouldn’t let him, but in his mind his screams were deafening._

It wasn’t working.

The images still came. Painting scenes inside his mind. He could claw his eyes out and they still wouldn’t stop.

_NO! I CAN’T!_

His limbs uncurled like a spring, desperate to get away.

He stumbled to his feet, white and black spots dancing in front of his hurting eyes. He was gasping for breath, but there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen.

_AIR!_

His feet dragged him onwards. He bumped his shoulder against something, then his hip. He barely realized it.

He couldn’t breathe.

_AIR! I NEED AIR!_

He didn’t remember getting into the hallway. Yet he was here now. In the dark. Surrounded by the loud thumping of his heart.

His eyes spotted the door.

_OUT! GET OUT!_

He crashed against the metal, pushed against it, hammered and pulled, but it didn’t budge.

_Shards were everywhere as his arm crashed through the window of the car. Braced against the vehicle he grabbed his target and yanked him out with ease. The target’s screams barely registered with him, as did their sudden ending when the truck on the other lane connected with it._

There was a buzz all around him. Fluctuating. Aggravating.

_CAN’T BREATHE!_

Without thinking he braced himself against the wall, reached out and slammed his left hand into the wall next to the door. Something gave way. He wasn’t sure if it was the wall or the metal fingers that had taken the brunt of it with being unable to bend them. And he didn’t care.

Blinded by his overwhelmed mind he ripped it out again, chest heaving. Small parts of debris crumbled out as well.

_Cold air burned in his lungs. He was running. Running through the forest. Shots sounding everywhere. His legs numb with exertion and the cold. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt warm. “Damn Dernier! Where’s the fucking…” BOOM!_

He pushed his right hand into the hole, feeling cables beneath his fingers. His hand doubled. He blinked. Then ripped it out. Sparks flying.

_OUT! NEED TO GET OUT!_

Again he pushed against the door. It gave way. If only just a bit.

_Metal fingers closed around the throat. Pressing. Squeezing. Nails scratching against his metal wrist in a futile attempt to get free. The face turning red. And panicked eyes pleading with him while the first blood vessels burst around the irises._

The buzzing intensified, was all around him. Urging him. Annoying him. Frightening him.

He squeezed the unmoving metal fingers into the tiny gap, leaning sideways to use his own arm as a crowbar.

Something brushed against his shoulder. He rolled it, trying to shake it off, but it held on. With a quick motion he lashed out, brushing it off for good. It was gone. The buzzing grew worse.

_Thing is, you don’t have to. I’m with you till the end of the line, pal._

He pushed harder, scratched at the opening with his hand, his fingers, his nails. Everything he got.

_LET ME OUT!!!_

_MAKE IT STOP!!!_

_I CAN’T BREATHE!!!_

And then the door gave way. He pulled, pushed his metal arm through and ripped it back with his elbow against the metal, widening the opening.

_Kicking Steve against a car, twirling the knife until he had a good grip with both hands. He threw himself against him, stabbing the knife right at his face. Steve dodged just in time and the blade sank into the metal behind him._

He stumbled, fell against the wall. His legs felt funny. He ducked his head, cradled it in his hands.

“Stop… JUST STOP!” he screamed hoarsely.

He shook his head, gasped for air and pushed onward, driven by his desperation to get away.

The buzzing grew louder again. It hurt his head.

_OUT!_

So he squeezed through the opening that he’d made when pain exploded all around him. In him. Through him. Held his body in its shaking, torturous grip.

_Metal clamping around his arms, holding him down. Clamping around his head, encasing it in a cocoon of pain. Twitching, jerking, screaming and all the while another set of memories was burnt to ash by the currents that singed his body._

No. NO!

NOT THAT!

NEVER AGAIN!

His legs kicked, searching for purchase. His arms grabbed and pulled and pushed against the agony. The pain gave him strength, urged him on even more.

And then it stopped.

He was out.

_There she stood, all in red. Elegance and beauty and vigor and strength. And he felt small and dirty and insignificant. With someone like that at his side Steve wouldn’t need him anymore._

On all fours, struggling to breathe and trembling, his muscles jerked with remnants of his torture. But he was out!

Something caught his eye, just a shadow, a movement, and he reacted on instinct. Rolled to the side and metal connected with the floor where he’d just been.

With instincts ingrained in him for decades, heightened by his confusion and agitation, he jumped to his feet again. Swaying for a second as black spots clouded his vision. He barely raised his metal arm in time to dodge the attack.

He stumbled, threw his weight against the hard and cold body of his opponent to unbalance him. Together they crashed against a wall. He pushed an arm away, disengaged and smashed his arm back against their head with all his might.

Metal screeched. Then crashed.

_Annoying woman. Didn’t she realize that none of this would make a difference? He aimed carefully, never losing sight of his target. She wasn’t part of his mission, but he wasn’t going to spare a meddling enemy. A quick move of his finger and he saw her jerk. His target behind her crumpled to the floor in a growing puddle of blood._

One hand against the wall to keep him from falling he looked down at his attacker, his chest heaving and his head throbbing in time with his frantic, stumbling heartbeat.

He couldn’t make sense of that thing on the floor.

_Steve beneath him. Face bloody and swollen. Dangling over the abyss between broken glass and dented metal. “Then finish it. ‘Cause I’m with you till the end of the line.”_

_PLEASE!!! STOP!!!_

_OUT!_

_AIR!_

He pushed off the wall, his eyes darting around, checking his new surroundings – an elevator, another door, a corner – but the walls seemed to move. Making him dizzy.

And that damn buzzing just wouldn’t stop!!!

_Fleeing. Rough bark beneath his fingers. His muscles pulling him higher and higher until he left the world behind. The wide trunk against his back protecting him. The thick blanket of leaves hiding him._

_UP!_

He stumbled against the other door. It didn’t budge. And no door handle. Turning he spotted another door, around the corner, next to the elevator.

With new desperation – and hope – he headed there, pushed it open and…

Stairs!

_UP!_

_AIR!_

Disregarding his aching body and his wobbly limbs he pushed on. Climbed the stairs relentlessly until he reached the top. The very top.

_The man laughed and never stopped talking. And then he tore away his face. HIS FACE! Like a mask. To leave nothing but a grotesque skull-like head. A red skull. He’d never felt so shocked and grossed out. And afraid for – of? – his friend._

He ran up against the door twice. Crashing against it with his metal shoulder until it groaned. One last kick finally opened it. And sent him tumbling to the floor.

_A buzzing sound. Lightning reflexes made him turn just in time to raise his arm and catch the thrown missile. The impact reverberated through his left side. It was a shield. And the man who’d thrown it seemed like a worthy opponent. But he wasn’t his mission._

He got up again, leaning against the wall and climbed outside.

And stopped.

Wind whipped his hair around his face.

Nothing but dark sky above him and wherever he looked, the soft glowing city beneath him.

Cars were honking in the distance, a siren sounded from somewhere far away. He was high up, detached from everything around.

No walls.

Just open space.

And air.

So much air!

He stumbled, connected with some elevated roof element and pulled himself on top of it. Leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, just for a moment. The cool night air felt good against his skin, merely a soft chill compared to the freezing temperatures of his memories, and he took a deep breath. And another.

And slowly the storm in his mind died down a bit. Left him shaken and exhausted.

He opened his eyes and let them roam over the bustling city that never slept.

He felt the pounding of his head, the soreness of his muscles, the drowsiness that weighed him down. And he realized what he had done. The havoc he’d caused down there.

The guilt felt distant, though. Disconnected.

He’d needed a way out. To get away.

An escape.

He pulled his legs up and closed his arms around his knees, never taking his eyes of the city below. The memory came unbidden, as did all the others, but this one filled him with a certain tranquility.

Sitting on a fire escape, looking down on a tiny part of a street of the same city, although it had been very different back then.

He blinked sluggishly, his eyes dry and his head heavy.

So many years ago and still, he almost felt as if his legs were dangling through the railings again…

_Steve sat down next to him and leaned his scrawny shoulder against him. His temple softly bumped against his own._

_He rubbed his temple as the scene unfolded in front of him._

_“Are you completely out of your mind, Rogers?” Stark shouted after Steve’s retreating back._

_The blond turned for a moment at the entry of the makeshift workshop. “Just have the detonators ready in 30.”_

_Steve was gone and Stark was fuming._

_“It’s not the best plan but we need to get in there,” he said. And Stark swiveled around and fixed him with his intense eyes._

_“Do you think I don’t know that, Barnes? It’s just- he’s so infuriatingly altruistic and-“ The man deflated as his anger turned to frustration. And maybe admiration judging by that look in his eyes. “Erskine really did choose the perfect candidate, didn’t he?” Suddenly his eyes grew big and turned to him. “Don’t you ever tell him, I said that!”_

_Act as soon as you get a clear shot, they’d said._

_The rifle was in his hands, the target clear in his sights 23 floors below. A twitch of his finger, a soft snap, screams and visual confirmation through the sight. “Target is down.”_

_Suddenly he was looking up instead of down. And he was falling. He raised his hand for Steve and he screamed. Fell and screamed. Until something connected with his left side and there was only pain._

_It seared through him, made him twitch and buckle, but his limbs were chained down to the chair. They always were. And the machine hugged his head in its cruel caress and drove everything out of his mind except for the pain._

_Hisses of pain sounded from the cot in the tent where Dum Dum lay on his stomach, his face turned away and his pants down to his knees as Falsworth cleaned the gunshot wound at his rear. Gabe could barely contain his snickering while Dernier grinned like a Cheshire cat. Dugan cursed them both. The flap opened to reveal Steve. “Dugan?” he inquired and Falsworth looked up from his work, giving the uninjured cheek a slap. “He’ll live.”_

_Bucky chuckled. “Not so sure about his pride, though.”_

_He kneeled down and looked at the old man in the crushed car. Unlike the woman next to him he was obviously not dead._

_“He’s alive,” he reported through the connection of his earpiece._

_“Make sure he’s dead, then!”_

_The man was crushed against his seat by the steering wheel. Blood was running out of his mouth and staining the left side of his face. His breaths were wheezing. It wouldn’t take long until nature took care of him itself._

_The man’s eyes opened, blinked sluggishly before they slowly focused on him. Confusion twisted his brow. “Barnes? You- you’re alive? How…?“_

_His face scrunched up in a wave of pain and suddenly it changed, morphed back into a young man with dark hair and a moustache. He knew that man. Knew those dark eyes that flicked over him, coming to rest on his metal arm as the man breathed in horror, “What have they done to you?”_

_There was a pause. “Barnes? It’s me. Howard.“_

_The horror turned to panic as he coughed up blood, groaning in pain and understanding. “Barnes? What have they… Oh God! I’m so sorry! We thought you were dead. I thought- I should’ve- I’m so sorry!“_

_And all he did was watch and wait. It wouldn’t take long for the target to die…_

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE???”

 

 

 

When Steve finally drove his motorcycle back into the garage of the Stark Tower he was absolutely exhausted. But in a good way. His muscles were sore and his whole body ached from the lifting of rubble and pulling people out to safety.

They were safe now!

Together with the fire department he’d gotten those out who’d been trapped by the fire and later on they’d checked the remains of the exploded building for those buried beneath it. It had taken hours. But without his help it would’ve taken way longer than that and some might have not survived that long.

He stepped into the elevator with a content smile on his face as he pulled the cap of his uniform back over his head.

“Jarvis, take me upstairs,” he said while trying to wipe some of the dust and soot from his arms and chest. He looked forward to his bed now. And in the long run towards a breakfast with his friends. Again a big grin sneaked onto his face as he thought about Bucky.

His memories were finally coming back.

Even if he hadn’t heard it himself the look in his eyes, the recognition, would’ve told him enough. Something about that picture had worked. Had revived his memories. And after that it had been as if a cork had been removed of a bottle. More and more things had come back. More and more of the Bucky he remembered, that he’d missed, had shown through.

They had laughed – and cried at some point – out of disbelief, out of hope. Out of sheer joy.

He’d loathed to leave him but duty had called and he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he’d let people die just to enjoy some more hours of reminiscing that could easily wait till the morning.

He sighed. Unburdened and content.

Now he would be able to prove to Tony that Bucky wasn’t a danger. That he was the victim in all of this. Now all he had to do was convince the stubborn man.

And then he had his friend back for good.

_Bucky is back. Really back!_

That thought shocked him every time anew. Filled him with bristling joy.

_Don’t jump the gun on this! He’s still lived through terrible things and he’s right: memories or not, he won’t be the same man after all of this._

_But he remembers me. And I certainly can work with that._

The doors shut and the cabin started to move. His eyes narrowed as he concentrated for a moment. He could’ve sworn that it was going faster than usual.

“There has been an incident, Capt. Rogers.”

And with just that few simple words he froze. All contentment and joy forgotten; just as his exhaustion.

“What happened?” His tone was clipped, professional. Trained to keep calm and in control at all times although he felt anything but.

“Sgt. Barnes broke out of the apartment and Mr. Jefferson is in need of your assistance.”

_What?_

_That makes no sense! At all!_

Fear pierced through his heart like an icicle. He’d been away for just a few hours. Everything had been fine when he’d left. More than fine. What the hell had happened?

“Why didn’t you contact me earlier?” he asked, angry at the A.I.. Angry at himself.

“I tried, Sir. You weren’t wearing your earpiece.”

_Damn it!_

With an innocent ‘ping’ the doors opened and his mouth fell open in shock before he clenched his teeth against that fast increasing feeling of dread in his guts.

The automatic metal door to the apartment was ripped open, dented and bent, completely mutilated, gaping open like a ragged wound. And just a few feet next to it lay one of Tony’s armors crumpled to the floor, limbs askew like a disregarded marionette.

_Oh God! Tony!_

Fear for his friend made his pulse rate spike. He stared, searching for a sign that Tony was okay, that…

_It’s not an armor!_

No, it wasn’t. It was a complete robot, remotely controlled by Jarvis. Probably a prototype for the Iron Legion Program Tony’d been talking about on their last mission together. The relief made him stagger for a second. Especially as his gaze turned to its head – or what’s left of it. It was completely smashed in.

That required a lot of force and violence.

_And a metal arm._

_God Bucky, what did you do?_

_And why?_

_And what happened to…_

“Jefferson!”

He quickly crossed the hall towards the door. It was dark inside; just the dim nighttime lighting of the hallway fell in through the door. Enough to spot a pair of pale, naked legs.

“ _Jefferson_!” he shouted. “Jarvis, turn on the lights inside!”

Hastily he squeezed through the opening right as the lights flared to life at a low setting that wasn’t blinding him. But it only highlighted the evidence of destruction. Cables were hanging out of a hole in the wall and dust and small pieces of rubble crunched under his boots. And it was hot inside. Did something burn?

Jefferson was lying on the floor, his back against the wall, his arms limp in front of him. He looked so damn vulnerable, lying there in nothing but his underwear with his tanktop slid up, exposing part of his flank and back.

Steve was at his side in an instant. The other man was breathing.

_Thank God!_

For a moment there…

No, he wouldn’t go there. Mustn’t go there.

“Jefferson?” He gently shook his shoulder all the while checking visually for injuries. He found none. “Jarvis? What happened to him?”

A soft groan answered him from the floor. Jefferson squeezed his eyes shut and frowned in discomfort.

“He didn’t listen to my warnings about the knock-out gas. He still tried to stop Sgt. Barnes. Without success I might add. By that point the gas had already affected him too much to leave the hallway.”

“When was that?”

“Four hours and 51 minutes ago.”

“ _What?_ He’s been lying here for _five hours_? Didn’t you call an ambulance or something?”

Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“The rules for entering and leaving this apartment haven’t changed. And since Mr. Jefferson sustained no injury but was merely sleeping there was no need for medical attention. The gas was removed instantly and his vitals gave no reason for concern at any time. I adjusted the heating accordingly to prevent hypothermia.”

He didn’t feel like honoring that with an answer. Jarvis was no living being; sometimes he actually forgot that he was just a program made by Tony. Operating within its parameters.

_But within those parameters he did what he could._

“Jefferson? Come on, pal. I need you here.”

Again he shook the other’s shoulder, this time more successfully. With another groan the man’s eyes slowly opened, blinking sluggishly before they focused on him.

“Steve?”

“That’s right. Come on.”

He pulled Jefferson up by his arm, gentle but firm, and helped him sit up against the wall. Judging by his grimaces and the way he kept rubbing his face a few aftereffects of the gas seemed to linger. His gaze swept across his surroundings, disoriented and confused, until it got caught by the wreckage of the door. He froze, his chest suddenly heaving and his mouth fell open.

“Bucky,” he whispered. Unbelieving. Horrified. Worried.

Whatever he remembered, it sobered him up very quickly.

Jefferson looked up at him, wide eyed, and grabbed the straps of the harness that held his shield on his back with both hands.

“We have to find him! He’s- he wasn’t himself. I don’t know… We have to find him!”

Steve nodded. “Alright, alright. I know. Just- what happened, Jefferson?”

He shrugged, looking confounded and absolutely devastated.

“I don’t know. I don’t- he went to bed, complained about a headache. I thought nothing of it. Next thing I wake up from a ruckus and he’s ripping the door apart. Jarvis was trying to reason with him. I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t react at all. He was completely out of it. Kept mumbling to himself. Something happened, Steve. Something bad.”

This didn’t sound good.

_His memories. A headache. Now this. Maybe something Hydra had implanted into his head? Some kind of behavior triggered by his returning memories?_

He fixed Jefferson with a stern gaze. “We’ll find him. We’ll find out what happened and then we’ll help him. We did it once. We can do it again. Okay?”

Jefferson nodded, let go of him and pushed himself upright. He swayed for a second, caught himself against the wall and shook his head. “Okay, let’s find him!”

There was no sign of insecurity or hopelessness on his face. Not like on their last trip to find Bucky. Just a steely determination and the surety that he would succeed.

Steve was so surprised at first that it took him a moment to collect himself. A moment Jefferson used to gather information.

“Jarvis? You still there?”

“Yes, I am, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Do you know which direction Bucky took?”

“Sgt. Barnes had been heading straight for the roof.”

“Of course!” Jefferson exclaimed while he slapped a hand against his forehead. Then he fixed his eyes on Steve. “He always went for high up places when he was upset. You said so, too. And he sure as hell seemed pretty upset earlier.”

_Makes sense. But only if it’s not Hydra related. What would Hydra gain from their special asset on the roof of Stark Tower?_

_An easy access point for picking him up!_

_Shit!_

“The roof it is, then.”

Only Jarvis intervened, “Sgt. Barnes went for the roof but he isn’t there anymore.”

_They took him. God no, they took him!_

“Do you know where he is _now_?” Steve asked, unwilling to let his worry win over the fear of yet another unexpected turn of this night.

“He is currently in the workshop. With Mr. Stark.”

_What? But…_

“ _SHIT_!” It just slipped out. With emphasis.

“ _WHAT_?” Jefferson added, just as shocked as he was.

Tony and Bucky together was bad already. But Tony and Bucky together after Bucky escaped, destroyed part of the building and one of Tony’s toys was really bad. And Tony and Bucky together in Tony’s workshop of all places, that was the epitome of bad.

Steve saw his own fears reflected in Jefferson’s face, maybe even more so.

Nonetheless Jefferson kept his cool. His breathing was too fast and his face too pale and his voice was shaking, but he kept it together. If anything the fear and anxiety in his eyes turned to anger.

“The workshop! Now!”

Steve didn’t need another invitation.

Without hesitation they started towards the door. And were stopped by Jarvis once more.

“May I remind you that Mr. Jefferson is not allowed to leave premises.”

Jefferson just stared at the remains of the door, completely disbelieving. “Seriously?” He turned angry again pretty fast. And provocative. “The door’s already open. How could you possibly keep me in here now? Your gas isn’t working that fast, you know.”

“It’s possible to reroute the electricity from the power supply line to the door as a last resort. The gap isn’t wide enough for you to get through without touching the metal of at least one side.”

Jefferson’s mouth fell open. Shock and horror and disgust at war on his face. ‘And my brother is alone with the maniac who trapped him here, who hates his guts’ his expression seemed to say. And Steve was ready to agree.

_Did he do that to Bucky? Did Jarvis try to keep him inside that way?_

No, he didn’t want to think about that now. Didn’t want to imagine it at all. Instead he looked up, couldn’t help the instinctive movement although he knew that it was irrelevant in which direction he spoke. “Jarvis, we’re talking about his brother here. You can’t-“

“Come on,” Jefferson interrupted, clearly pissed now. “Where could I possibly go like this?” He waved a hand down, indicating his state of undress and his bare feet. “I wouldn’t get far, would I? And anyway, what could I possibly do compared to what Bucky has already done to this place? Huh? You can knock me out in no time with that gas of yours or shock me if I go anywhere else but the workshop. I don’t care. You understand me? _I don’t care_! I just want to get back to my brother!”

“I cannot allow you to leave,” Jarvis replied with his usual politeness. But right now it only seemed cold.

“Listen, Jarvis,” Steve said, taking a deep breath to keep his temper from rising – that wouldn’t get him anywhere in an argument with a computer program. “I vouch for him. I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure that he’s not doing anything stupid. Will that do? Please Jarvis, we _need_ to get to Bucky!”

“As I was saying, I cannot allow you to leave, Mr. Jefferson,” the dark-haired man balled his fist and jerked it down as if hitting it against a table, “however there seems to be a glitch in the power grid that keeps me from rerouting the current. Therefore I couldn’t keep you from leaving should you consider doing that.”

_Is he really sounding smug or is that just my imagination?_

His lips set into a grim line. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

Jefferson was already outside, looking back expectantly. “Well? Come on!”

Considering that Jarvis controlled the elevator Steve didn’t want to risk their luck any further and led the other man right to the stairs. The workshop wasn’t too far away anyway.

The mindless running down the stairwell wasn’t doing anything to keep his mind occupied, though. He kept wondering what they might find. He hated to think bad of his friend but so far Tony had acted nothing but hostile. And interested in the technology of Bucky’s arm.

He couldn’t help seeing Bucky tied down onto a table and Tony looming over him like one of those scientists on those pictures from his file. And the longer it took to get to the workshop the worse his imagination got. Bucky unconscious, knocked out by a brutal blow to the head, still bleeding. Or Bucky screaming and fighting against his bonds. Maybe even breaking free, attacking Tony in his panicked rage.

The image of the completely destroyed head of the Iron Legion robot that popped up in his mind wasn’t helping either. It only painted possibilities he didn’t dare think about. Like Tony’s head, smashed in like the robot’s.

_Stop it! That’s still Tony you’re thinking about. He’s no monster. And he’s not stupid._

_No, but he’s angry._

_And he’s alone with the murderer of his parents. A trained assassin._

_Dammit Steve, run faster!_

Finally they reached the right floor. Steve had been here before, just once or twice, but often enough to remember the way through the labyrinth of hallways and glass and different levels. And the worry for both his friends seemed to guide his way.

He stepped through an open door and around a corner and stopped abruptly, facing the area Tony preferred to work at, only separated by a wall of glass.

Jefferson bumped into him.

“Steve? What…” The other’s voice died down as he saw what he was already looking at.

This couldn’t be true.

His heart thumped faster in his chest while his eyes roamed the scene, searching for anything that would tell him that this wasn’t what it looked like.

There he was.

Bucky.

Lying motionless on an examination table, his chest bare, his metallic arm exposed for easier access. And Tony stood right next to him, looming over him in a white dress shirt and a loose black bow tie dangling around his neck that just wouldn’t fit into the picture at all. Unlike the fascination and the almost childish glee lightening up his whole face.

He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Couldn’t believe it. Not one bit.

But it scared the shit out of him.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the nasty cliffhanger... okay, not really... 
> 
> I hope I managed to picture the confusing force of the onslaught of memories. I wanted it to be powerful and jumping wildly through his whole life.  
> Nevertheless, I like how it turned out (same goes for Jarvis in this one).  
> Now I hope you do so, too.
> 
> In just 24 hours you'll know more in:  
> Part Four: Overload - Revelation


	15. Part Four: Overload - Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's Howard got to do with everything?

**Part Four: Overload**

Revelation

 

Jefferson gasped for air, for a release from the horrible pressure against his chest but the desperate, overwhelmed breaths did nothing to ease his pain. And they didn’t wake him up either, no matter how much he prayed for this to just be one of his nightmares.

But it wasn’t.

Bucky was lying there in the middle of this futuristic room that – even with that second set of memories of a life in this world – seemed more magical and dangerous than Rumplestiltskin’s workroom ever had. He was just lying on that table, like on those pictures in his file, again surrounded by gleaming technology and a crazy scientist. And he wasn’t moving. And Stark was contemplating his brother with narrowed eyes, like a fascinated kid before it plunged the stick into the anthill.

Jefferson wanted to scream, wanted to run in there, push that monster away from his brother and punch that excited little smirk off his lips. But his terror at seeing Bucky in the hands of that creep outweighed his fury at the man responsible. It paralyzed him. Forced him into helplessness.

And just as he thought he could fight it and storm into the room Bucky stepped around the corner and next to Tony, pulling the zipper of his hoodie up in the process.

_Wha- huh?_

He blinked, but there were still two Buckys. That couldn’t be- there had to- was the knock-out gas playing with his mind? He wanted to look for Steve’s reaction but couldn’t take his eyes off the scene.

The second Bucky, the one standing, leaned back against some desk, his left hand buried inside the pocket while his right pinched the bridge of his nose before he rubbed across his eyes. He looked completely drained – the dark circles beneath his eyes amidst his pale face bore an eerie likeness to the dark eye sockets within a skull. His eyes scanned his doppelganger on the table and he shuddered for a moment, hunching his shoulders even more.

“That’s- _really_ creepy!” the upright version of his brother said.

Stark – who looked completely out of place in his fancy evening attire next to his brother, clad in jeans and black hoodie – tore his gaze away from the lying Bucky to fix it on the other one instead. His mouth fell open slowly and he turned away again, a sheepish, almost apologetic expression on his face.

“Yeeeah,” he drawled out, “I guess? Aaaanyway- Jarvis? Let’s focus on the inner values, huh?”

And that’s when Jefferson saw it. He’d missed it until now. Or – more precisely – he’d thought the gleaming light was a reflection on the metal surface of the lying Bucky’s arm. But now he realized that the light came from behind and shone right _through_ him. He didn’t get a moment to process that information, though, because the next second the Bucky from the table just- dissolved.

 _It’s an image. A three-dimensional, fucking realistic-looking_ image _!_

Stark swirled his hand around like someone performing magic – and maybe he was. Because where Bucky’s image had been another image turned and rose from the table. A vague, translucent outline of an upper body with a massive collection of wires inside their left arm. Some of those wires snaked past the shoulder and seemed to lead towards the spine and head of the figure.

_That’s Bucky! Has to be! That’s what they did to him!_

Jefferson wasn’t sure what was happening right in front of his eyes. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. But when he saw the way Bucky’s – the real Bucky’s – eyes blinked with dizziness as he followed the sudden movement of the image, as he saw his brother give in and close his eyes for a moment and grip the desk with his hand to steady himself, it was finally too much. Something in his mind just snapped – and gave him free at last.

Without a second thought he sprinted ahead, rounded the glass wall and stormed into the room. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw movement and he heard the dull thumping of Steve’s heavy boots against the floor.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed and Stark turned towards the entrance, an insolent grin tugging at his lips. “Ah, there they are. Took you long enough, we were expec-“ He broke off midsentence and his eyes turned wide for a second before he settled for an incredulous snicker. “Well, I wasn’t expecting _that_!” he said with a wave in Jefferson’s direction, indicating his current state of undress.

But he really didn’t care. Bucky was the important one.

Steve beat him there, though. The super soldier passed him and hurried to Bucky first. They stared at each other, exchanged some clipped words too low to catch, then the blond spun around and focused all his anger and confusion onto Stark.

“ _Explain this_! What is going on here! What did you do to him? What did you do to him _right_ _there_?”

“What did _I_ do? Come on, Rogers…”

Jefferson stopped paying attention – even the unconscious noticing of things happening at one’s periphery – as soon as he reached his brother. Slightly out of breath from all that adrenalin he stared at his twin, his eyes flickering over him, taking it all in. The floppiness of his stance, the way he leaned against the desk, the hunch of his shoulders and his oh so tired eyes that watched him almost uneasily and full of guilt. He grabbed his shoulders, needing to feel that he was really there, while a chaotic onslaught of questions assaulted his mind.

_Did he hurt you?_

_What happened?_

_What’s that image thing that looks just like you?_

_Why are you with Stark? Did he force you here?_

_Why did you leave?_

_Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?_

_Was something wrong?_

_What_ the hell _happened?_

But when he finally opened his mouth the only thing that came out was the only thing that really mattered, “Are you alright?”

 

 

 

_(few hours earlier)_

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE???”

Startled by the loud voice Bucky jerked awake. His heart was racing.

It was dark but the faint lights all around let him see the figure in front of him quite clearly. It was a man with dark hair and a moustache. Howard. It was Howard Stark. And judging by his tone he was seriously pissed.

The image of Howard coughing up blood came unbidden but instantaneous.

_Oh God, you’re alive? How…?_

He jumped up, needed to make sure.

The moment he moved Howard took a step back, wary. His hands were at his sides now, slightly raised, ready to fight should he need to defend himself.

_Can you hold it against him?_

Of course he couldn’t. Not after everything he’d done.

It hurt nonetheless.

_What have they done to you?_

_We thought you were dead._

_What have they done to you?_

Bucky stepped back, cautiously, his hands raised in the universal gesture for ‘I mean you no harm’. And finally he found his voice again.

“I’m… I don’t know. I didn’t want to…“ His voice was hoarse and he still didn’t understand. He just saw him, breathing his last breath in that damn car. And now…

_I don’t know what they did to me._

_I didn’t want to hurt you. Never!_

_You’re my friend._

_But how can you be here? You’re dead. Aren’t you?_

Tentatively he stepped closer again, needed answers, needed to know how his friend could stand there right now, needed…

“How are…”

Again his voice betrayed him. Or his mind. It didn’t matter. Not the way Howard was looking at him. Angry and afraid. And the only words that mattered finally tumbled out of his mouth, “I’m sorry, Howard. I’m so, so sorry!”

Howard narrowed his eyes. “Wrong Stark, tin man.”

_What? What’s that’s supposed to-_

The man took a step back and to the side and some more light made the goatee at his chin visible.

And all of a sudden everything clicked into place.

He was on the roof. This wasn’t Howard but his son. Howard was dead. Killed by his own hands.

_You killed my parents! Hydra wanted them dead and you killed them. I want you to say it. SAY IT!_

He stumbled backwards until his back connected with the wall. His frantic wide eyes left this other Stark only to look down at his own hands.

_I’m so sorry. We thought you were dead._

_Barnes? It’s me. Howard._

“What did I do?!“

_Oh God!_

He barely realized it when his legs gave out, only felt the harsh wall rub against his back through his shirt. But even sitting he felt light-headed and pulled down by the weight of his guilt all the same. His hands lay on his knees. One flesh and blood, trembling with shock. The other cold metal, damaged and uncaring. Like the thing they had turned him into.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and looked up, directly at the man whose accusations hadn’t meant a thing to him.

Until now.

His voice was rough and wobbly when he spoke.

“I remember.”

 

 

 

Tony couldn’t believe what was happening right in front of his eyes.

He saw it, but couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

The confusion in the other man’s face, the speechless terror in his eyes – not even Romanoff could act _that_ good. This was real. He knew it. Because he’d seen that look before in his own eyes. In the cave in Afghanistan as he’d looked into Yinsen’s shard of a mirror to inspect his chest. And after Afghanistan, back home. He knew that look when one realized that something horrible had happened to oneself. And he also knew that look of being crushed under the guilt and responsibility of one’s own actions.

He stumbled, the enormity of it all making him dizzy.

This made no sense.

This wasn’t what he expected to find when he’d left the inauguration of his new facility in Columbus. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all, when Jarvis had informed him of a security breach.

Instead this was developing into something he really didn’t want to deal with. And he desperately wished all of a sudden that he’d still be back there, holding Pepper in his arms while slow-dancing at the party, stealing a kiss from her every now and then.

_Flying the suit by night always presented him with the most wonderful view. The mesmerizing lights of the cities. The highways alight like glowing wires, connecting nodes of civilization. He had no eyes for any of that this night. The tux he wore wasn’t meant for wearing underneath his armor. His arms felt restricted in their movements and there was a crinkle in his pant leg that was pressed uncomfortably into his calf._

_“So, the Hydra puppet finally went berserk,” he summarized Jarvis’s description of the incident. That he’d managed to get past the door even after Jarvis had energized it and past his Iron Legion drone - with ease as it seemed - worried him more than he wanted to let on. “What about Fairy-Barnes? Did he escape, too?”_

_“No, Sir. He tried to stop Sgt. Barnes but was rendered unconscious by the knock-out gas. He’s still inside the apartment, unharmed and sleeping off the effects of the gas.”_

_“Where is Barnes now?”_

_“He’s on the roof, Sir. It seems the gas affected him as well. He’s asleep at the moment.”_

_Tony snorted and shook his head slightly, but with a sly grin on his face._

_“Not the cleverest of moves, taking a nap at the crime scene.”_

_“Sir, confronting Sgt. Barnes within the armor might not be the best course of action, considering how easily he took out the drone. He might associate it with being a threat. In his confused state you might have a better chance at getting through to him without the Iron Man suit.”_

_“I don’t want to get through to him. I want that monster dealt with. I want him out of the way, locked up for good.”_

_The time for taking Steve’s feelings or their friendship into account had run out the moment Barnes had broken free. He couldn’t be allowed to get any further than that. He needed to be stopped before civilians could get hurt._

_“Sir, he hasn’t hurt anyone yet. But he’s highly erratic. Hostile behavior might not be the best plan of approach.”_

In the end he had heeded Jarvis’s advice, although begrudgingly, and stepped out of his armor. But he wasn’t stupid. He never stepped more than two yards away and he’d left it open, standing there like a grotesque, gutted-looking statue, so that he could easily slip back inside.

Which Tony had been tempted to do just a few moments ago when Barnes had gotten closer all of a sudden, with his arms raised.

He wasn’t so sure now.

God, he wasn’t sure about anything anymore right now.

He came here because Barnes had finally shown his true colors – and with the worst timing ever, of course. Or the best, with him in another state and Steve away as well. He came here to stop him from hurting someone, to collect the final prove for Steve that he couldn’t trust that killer. He came to bring the murderer of his parents to justice. He had immediately ordered a full shutdown of the building and given Jarvis full authority to detain the Hydra agent by any means necessary while he hurried back.

But what he saw in front of him now, that wasn’t the behavior of a monster. Of a heartless killer.

That man was afraid. Horrified. He was staring down at his own hands as if they were still dripping in blood. He wasn’t acting. No, this just _couldn’t_ be acting.

But that meant he hadn’t been acting all those times Tony’d watched him interact with Steve or Jefferson as well.

Air escaped his lungs in a shocked puff as realization hit him. As he became aware of all those moments he’d started to doubt. All those moments that he’d pushed aside and covered up by focusing on the puzzle piece named Jefferson or his new suit instead of trying to get to the bottom of the whole story regarding Barnes. Afraid he’d learn something that he didn’t want to know.

The truth was staring him in the face now.

Tony wasn’t looking at a monster, at a cold-hearted killing machine. He was looking at a devastated human being. Someone who’d been used. He was looking at a victim. A victim of Hydra.

 _He’s still in there. All this time and he’s still_ there _._

He grabbed for the nearest part of solid wall he could reach and slid down as well, unsure what to do. All his anger, his resentment, his hate – in the face of that much desperation and horror, he couldn’t seem to summon those emotions anymore. They just crumbled away as their foundation disappeared into thin air.

He couldn’t hold on to them. And he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to. Not when he took a look at the sorry creature in front of him. The one with the ‘what have I done’ written all over its very existence that reminded him so much of himself that it hurt.

“I just stood there and watched him die,” Barnes mumbled, still clearly in shock.

The soft spoken words shook him out of his stupor. He wanted to do something, anything, to stop Barnes from talking, to stop him from hurting like this. He wanted to escape, to comfort. He had no idea what to do. Out of everyone he knew he was the least qualified person ever for handling something like this. So, torn between a million possible actions that ran through his head, one crazier than the other, he opted for the easiest option at hand. For the one that gave him more time to think: doing nothing and just listen.

“I killed him. Howard was my friend and I just watched as he slowly died in front of me.” His voice broke and he swallowed, raising his gaze to fix it on Tony directly. “And the whole time _he_ said he was sorry.”

There they were. The words he’d wanted to hear. The confession he’d longed for.

And it left him hollow.

He had no idea what brought this sudden memory recovery on but it was obvious that Barnes didn’t take it very well.

_Who would?_

He felt uncomfortable to say the least. This wasn’t his area of expertise. This was as far from schematics and technical problem solving as one could get. Dammit, he could barely deal with his own demons – and his father occupied a not insignificant place amongst them.

_I should call Steve. Let him deal with this mess. That’s what he wanted anyway, right? Getting his friend to remember who he is? This isn’t my problem, this… wait, did he say ‘sorry’?_

And without thinking he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind – or better, the thing that puzzled him.

“He really said he was sorry? That doesn’t sound like the man _I_ knew!”

Barnes’ mouth opened, shocked. And every bit taken aback by the resentment and disbelief in his harsh words.

_Well done, Tony. Why can you never just shut the hell up?_

But then he saw it. The twitch around the corners of Barnes’ mouth. And before he knew it an insecure and hesitant grin showed on the pale face. It made him look years younger. And strangely innocent.

“Yeah. Howard really wasn’t the kind to apologize. Or admit to regret. Or failure for that matter. Wasn’t he?”

This was so terribly strange.

He’d come up here to confront a killer. To proof a point to Steve.

Instead he sat here, out of his depths, and talked about his father with the man who murdered him. This was just surreal.

He’d never even done this with Steve, talking about his father. Because Steve admired Howard, put him on a pedestal while he himself did the opposite. And here came Bucky Barnes, Hydra assassin, and just- talked about him like someone who’d really _known_ him. Who’d at least gotten a glimpse at the man Howard Stark had truly been.

It boggled his mind.

The only thing that stood out clear as day amongst his jumbled mess of thoughts was that he’d been horribly, horribly wrong.

_Son of a bitch. Rogers was right all along._

_All those years and Barnes is still in there._

_Maybe it would be better if he weren’t._

He certainly didn’t envy him the shitload of Hydra memories he’d have to live with now.

A low voice ripped him out of his musings and as he looked up he saw Barnes gazing out towards the city, swallowing hard.

“I’m sorry. I…”

“No!” he snapped vehemently. All of that anger from before that had seemingly gone up in smoke was suddenly bubbling up again. “Don’t! Don’t apologize!“

Startled the other man tensed, gaze directed back at him now. Wary. And tired. “But-“

Tony leaned forward, emphasizing every word with a stabbing motion of his index finger.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… there’s nothing you need to be sorry for. _You_ didn’t kill my parents. _Hydra_ did!”

And to his own surprise he found that he meant it. Every single word of it.

Barnes looked at him, quizzical, with his head tilted a bit and his long hair partly obscuring his face. “That’s what Steve said. That they used me. Made me a weapon at their disposal.”

“Programmed you like a machine,” Tony added.

The other man frowned until he finally shook his head slightly. “No, not a machine. A machine doesn’t think. They made me believe that I did the right thing. That my actions would bring the world order and peace. They made me _want_ to help them.”

He watched Barnes struggle with this admission, watched the convulsive movements of his throat as he swallowed to keep his emotions in check, watched the fingers of his flesh-and-blood hand claw into his leg.

_How will your friends have time for me when they’re so busy fighting you?_

The ‘ping’ of Loki’s scepter against his arc-reactor still rang clearly in his mind. Just like the man in front of him reminded him of that few fierce comments from Barton about what Loki had done to him – or had made him do – each one of them laced with the same self-loathing he was faced with now.

“So, they got into your head. Happens to the best of us.”

Barnes huffed. “But it were my hands that did it. My hands that killed so many.”

Tony swallowed. He knew that kind of guilt. Maybe not with his own hands, but his weapons had killed thousands.

“Rogers is right, though, you know? They used you.” It took only a moment before he couldn’t let that statement just hang there in the air like that. “God, don’t ever tell him I said that!”

Silence.

Then – to his surprise – a soft chuckle broke it.

It was a very human sound. Alive and unfitting for the devastated mess of a man in front of him. And annoying. Definitely annoying.

“What?” he growled.

“You remind me of Howard.”

That came unexpected. And it hit home. Made him speechless.

He hated it to _remind_ someone of Howard Stark. It always ended in a comparison. And comparing himself with his father could only end in tears. Or a bottle of scotch. He’d lived a whole life in the shadow of a genius, faced with impossible expectations. And no matter what he did, how much he accomplished, he seemed to never be able to leave that shadow behind. In a way Steve’s admiration of his father was easier to face, more familiar, than this. No, he really _hated_ it to remind someone of Howard Stark.

“You’ve got the same temper. Like a whirlwind. Demanding attention and never standing still. And you’re admiring Steve but you’re afraid of letting him see the man behind the mask, the man beneath. Carrying your flaws in front of you like a shield. It’s- quite strange.”

Tony blinked.

_What? How…_

No one has ever compared him to his father without comparing their contribution to the world, their level of intellect. Damn, this wasn’t even a comparison, a “who is better”, this was about things they had _in common_.

No one had ever shown that much insight either. How close were they, his father and Barnes?

 _And how the hell does he know so much about_ me _?_

Well, he might hate to admit it sometimes, but Barnes’ assessment wasn’t wrong. And strangely enough he felt no need to deny any of it. Although, it made him wonder if he really was so much like his father. No, he didn’t want to think about that.

So instead he shrugged and played it down. “Must be a part of the genetic make-up of us Starks.”

He leaned his head back against the wall, noticing the cold seeping through his clothes and into him for the first time and yet he felt no inclination to end this – whatever _this_ was. No, this was oddly- companionable.

Barnes seemed to think along the same lines. At least he leaned his head back and stretched out one leg, almost relaxed. Or maybe, if the dark shadows under his eyes were any indication, he was simply too exhausted to do anything else.

“He thinks you’re a good man, you know.” It took him a second to realize that he was talking about Steve now and not Howard. “Otherwise he wouldn’t call you his friend.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter than usual, I know.
> 
> See you tomorrow for this one:  
> Part Four: Overload - Neither Perfect nor Desirable and yet the Best


	16. Part Four: Overload - Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Tony's workshop the questions pile up.  
> Will there be answers as well?

**Part Four: Overload**

Neither Perfect nor Desirable and yet the Best

 

“Are you alright?”

Bucky sunk down a tiny bit more – or his shoulders did, losing some of their tension. Almost as if he was relieved? What did he expect? Anger? Resentment? And then the corners of his lips twitched, cautious and barely noticeable, but a smile nonetheless.

“No, I’m not alright. But feeling better now.“

Still shocked by the initial “no” it took Jefferson a moment to process the rest of it. By then he’d already placed his hands at the side of Bucky’s face, his fingers combing his long hair back and the pads of his thumbs resting close to his ears, keeping his face still.

“You sure?”

His eyes roamed his brother’s face again, searching for the truth behind his words. Sure, he looked like hell on the surface but there was something in his gaze that put Jefferson at ease. A clarity and presence that hadn’t been there when he’d tried to stop him from tearing down the door to their apartment. The wild frenzy was gone, as was the panic. Instead he seemed calm.

He felt the touch of hands on his shoulders and their reassuring squeeze as Bucky’s smile turned up a tiny notch when he just nodded. And Jefferson believed him. Whatever had come over him earlier, it was over. It was-

_Hold on!_

There were fingers pressing softly into his flesh on _both_ sides. But that wasn’t possible.

Confused, Jefferson let go of his brother’s face and peered down towards his right shoulder. And there it was. Metal hand, metal fingers, gripping him.

He felt his mouth open slowly. Quickly he grabbed the arm, carefully, as if he could damage it if he wasn’t taking care. His brother let him pull his hand between them.

There was not a scratch, not one dent.

_Impossible!_

Before he knew it he was stroking his fingers over the part above the wrist where he knew the damage had been. The metal plates felt a tiny bit rougher than the absolutely smooth ones further up and down but apart from that there was nothing to indicate the former damage. It was amazing really.

_Bucky can move his hand; his fingers. He can move. His. Fingers. Oh God!_

Uncomprehending – but so very happy for his brother – he gaped, licked his lips and tried again. “What-? How-?”

Not very eloquent but it got the message across judging from the smile that graced Bucky’s lips – tiny again, but _there_. “Tony fixed it.”

The words made no sense to him. Tony? _Tony Stark_? No, that couldn’t be true. The man had locked them up in here. He wanted to see his brother in a prison cell, had threatened to take his metal arm apart. Why did he help and repair it? It made no sense. And a sudden thought struck him: Stark did it in exchange for something. What did he want? Had Bucky willingly agreed?

_What the hell happened while I was unconscious?_

Bucky blinked wearily. And Jefferson decided that his answers could wait. Even if his brother had consented to some kind of Faustian pact in his exhausted state it could wait. One problem at a time. The only important thing right now was that Bucky was alright. That he had neither run away nor been taken by Hydra. And that Stark hadn’t tied him to a table and dismantled his arm.

It was alright.

They were alright.

He raised his right hand to cup the back of his brother’s neck and slowly pulled him towards him until their foreheads finally touched. A gentle wave of relief washed over him and filled him with tranquility. For the first time in ages he felt the full force of that touch, of that connection again. And needed it. Needed the reassurance and safety that it brought. This was nothing like back in his house when he’d leaned his brow against Steve’s, desperate for that closeness, that feeling of protection and _home_ that only his brother could give.

But it was nothing like that time when he’d found his brother again either. Or that night he’d woken up for the first time after his rescue, panicking. Back then Bucky had been the one desperate for that feeling, barely conscious or coherent. And he himself had been afraid.

This touch right now on the other hand was like coming home. It felt just like those many times when they’d hidden in one of the trees, together, giving each other strength in equal measure.

He let out a shuddering sigh.

That’s when he felt a hand against his shoulder yet again. Only this time he knew it wasn’t Bucky’s – the angle was all wrong. He really didn’t want to get back to reality, but he was still in the middle of Stark’s refuge, in his underwear and- damn, it was too late. The moment was gone.

Half resigned, half irritated he blinked his eyes open and turned his head slightly towards the intruder without breaking the contact to Bucky’s forehead, nonetheless too stubborn to give this moment up completely just yet.

It was Steve. Of course it was Steve.

The blond stood next to them, one of his hands on each of their shoulders, and eyed Bucky, worry etched into every line of his face. He felt his brother move as well, twisting his head to the side just enough to get a glimpse of the soldier himself. He wanted to say something, to dispel that anxiousness from Steve’s face, but his mouth just wasn’t working and his mind was blank. So instead, when the blond’s gaze crossed his he tried for a reassuring smile.

It seemed to work. His tension eased from his shoulders and he visibly relaxed a bit.

Jefferson didn’t hesitate. Acted purely on instinct. And because it felt _right_.

He raised his hand to Steve’s shoulder and pulled him closer. Readjusting his grip towards the back of the other’s neck he never stopped the motion altogether. Steve tensed a bit, clearly unsure about his intentions, but didn’t stop him. Only a moment later their foreheads bumped softly into each other. All three of them, touching. Two brothers by blood. Two best friends and brothers in arm. And two – _what are we exactly?_ – and two friends. Yeah. Friends.

It felt right. It wasn’t just him and his brother anymore. Steve was a part of them now. A significant one.

He had no idea how long they stood like that, lost in each other’s comfort and knowing that everything would be alright somehow. There was no need for words. They just _knew_. At least if Bucky and Steve felt the same way he did. It was a bit strange at first, sharing that experience, but what was life if not a constant possibility for change. And for once he welcomed it.

Someone cleared his throat behind him.

_Stark!_

He had totally forgotten about the billionaire.

“Alright, that’s enough Brokeback Mountain there. Take a room for- whatever it is you’re doing.”

Steve was the first to break away with a sigh and something strangely fond in his eyes.

Jefferson wanted nothing more than to lash out in outrage at the preposterous insinuation – yes, he knew about that movie.

_We’re brothers, you idiot, that’s just- no! Just no!_

But one look at Bucky, at the way he blinked wearily and rubbed his face, made him pause. Only when he was sure that his brother wouldn’t just collapse did he turn around to confront the infuriating man who had locked them up in here.

_He also repaired Bucky’s arm._

_And he saved his life by getting him medical care even though he didn’t had to._

_Why is this man so fucking complicated?_

Whatever angry retort had been on his tongue died anyway when he spotted said man. There was no mocking grin on his face nor was there any resentment, let alone hate like the day in the hospital room. Instead there was only a sort of sobriety as he fixed his dark eyes on something right behind Jefferson – or better: someone.

Bucky.

“I’ve got everything I need, Barnes. Go back with them and hit the hay. You sure as hell need it.”

He didn’t understand. Wasn’t Tony supposed to be the bad guy here? And what did he need? Oh, of course, those scans. So he got what he’d been after anyway, but why was he so civil to Bucky?

Steve seemed to wonder the same. “What happened on that roof, Tony?”

Stark shrugged. “Nothing. We talked.”

“About-“

The dark-haired’s expression hardened a bit. “You want to do this now? Your pal is barely keeping himself upright and you want to talk _now_.”

“Um,” Steve looked taken aback. And guilty. And a bit ashamed. “You’re right, I… never mind.”

This was all really fascinating and he’d loved to know what happened, but that could wait. He turned around and laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder to get his attention. “He’s right, you really _do_ look ready to drop. Let’s get you back and into a bed,” he said under his breath.

Bucky didn’t exactly nod, but his lips twitched for a second and he started shuffling towards the exit of the room. Jefferson never left his side. Steve took up his place at Bucky’s other side after throwing a “tomorrow” at Stark that sounded just as much like a promise than a threat.

Just as they were about to leave the workshop Stark’s voice followed them, raised so it would still reach them. “Don’t worry about the door! I’ll take care of it.”

_Door? What door? What is he talk- oh, the door. To the apartment._

_Of course you will! What good’s a prison without a proper door?_

But somehow that didn’t feel right. Jefferson pushed it away for later. Right now his brother was far more important than Stark.

Together they went back through the maze of corridors that they’d come from. Steve and himself flanked Bucky on either side and adjusted their pace to his tired shuffling. Every now and then his brother stumbled a bit, beginning the motion of stretching his arms out to steady himself but regaining his balance always immediately. The third time his steps faltered Jefferson placed his arm around his twin’s waist after a mumbled warning to not make him startle. This way he wasn’t exactly supporting him like an invalid and still giving him more stability whenever he needed it. A short while later Steve did the same with an arm around his shoulders. And like that they trudged the corridors until they reached the elevator. Since this time they were going where Tony wanted them they felt safe to use it again.

While the door closed Bucky blinked against the light inside the cabin, which only highlighted his pallor even more. In all their time together here he’d never seen his brother this tired. And he had looked pretty tired already as they’d started going through the memorabilia inside the chest. Whatever kind of frenzy had come over him earlier, it had taken a lot out of him, it seemed.

“When was the last time you slept?” he asked softly.

Bucky frowned as he concentrated on the question, thinking hard, only to shrug.

Before anyone could comment the doors opened and revealed the destruction of the floor. The crumpled and bashed in armor, the dents on the walls that told of a violent fight and above all else the wreckage of the door that still hung bent out of shape inside the doorframe. Bucky flinched between them and, if possible, even blanched further.

“I didn’t want to-“

His face was twisted in guilt and his words so low they were barely noticeable.

“It’s not important, Buck. Let’s get inside.” Steve gently guided him through the mess and made sure he wouldn’t stumble while climbing through the narrow opening.

Jefferson followed and resumed his place at Bucky’s other side. Together they steered him towards his bedroom when he stopped abruptly as soon as he laid eyes on the open door and the darkness behind it.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” he tried to coax him further, thinking his brother too tired to go on. He was wrong.

Bucky leaned back against their arms, actively trying to get away, and shook his head. “No! Not there!”

He saw Steve narrowing his eyes – a motion mirrored on his own face. Why didn’t he want to go back in there? It’s his room. He’d occupied it for the last-

_Unless, of course, whatever had happened earlier had started in there before he’d fled and broken out._

It wasn’t important to know _what_ had happened, for the moment it was enough to know _that_ it had happened. So he relented. “Alright. Where then?”

Bucky turned and started towards the living room. Steve seemed unhappy with that choice but to be honest, Jefferson didn’t care. Still with their arms around their friend and brother they entered the dark room, only illuminated by the lights of the city that never slept. For a moment he was taken by surprise that it was still night. So much had happened and torn between panic and relief and action and unconsciousness he’d lost any sense of time.

He navigated them around the armchair and towards the couch. As soon as he’d gone far enough so that each of them had room to sit comfortably they all plopped down gracelessly. He felt Bucky shift next to him, sliding a bit deeper into the cushions and he could hear Steve sigh.

This felt surreal somehow. Jefferson could only stare ahead into the dark room where he could soon make out the armchair surrounded by the big bookshelf as his eyes began to adjust. And while he sat there, mind almost blank and his whole right side pressed against his brother – their shoulders were touching, as were their arms and their thighs – his heart finally calmed down. It slowed its frantic beating, eventually accepting that it was over. That Bucky was back and well and wouldn’t just vanish again.

And as his body calmed down, he realized that it was cold. His feet were freezing from running around the building with bare feet and the chill was running up his exposed legs and biting into him. Getting up and putting on more suitable clothes wasn’t very high on his list of things he wanted to do right now – everything that included leaving this spot wasn’t exactly appealing at the moment.

In the end his body won. When he started shivering he forced himself to move, to get up again. That’s when he noticed the smell of cold smoke for the first time, right when he realized that Bucky was asleep. His brother’s right hand was resting casually on Steve’s thigh and his head was pillowed on Steve’s shoulder. Even in his sleep his face looked exhausted, but he seemed relaxed, no creases on his forehead, no tension around his jaw and nothing of that crazed desperation that had driven him earlier.

Alerted by his movements Steve blinked up at him, the question in his gaze clear as day. The dark stains on the lower half of his face – _Did he have them the whole time?_ – reminded him all of a sudden of the gas explosion that the soldier went out to help with.

_Was that really only just a few hours before?_

“Cold. Blanket,” he explained in hushed tones to not disturb his brother’s much needed sleep. “You okay?” He tapped against his own cheek to indicate the soot on Steve’s.

The blond nodded and gave him a reassuring smile before he turned his head to squint down at Bucky and his smile grew wider. He glanced back up at him, looking tired and content, and nodded again.

Jefferson smiled back, understanding exactly what the other man was feeling.

He wasn’t away for long, just to slip into the next best thing he got his hands on – which was a bathrobe hanging from a hook behind the door of their bedroom – and yesterday’s socks that still lay on the chair with his clothes. With a wool blanket from the closet in his arms he came back to find Steve asleep as well, his head tilted back into the cushions and his feet outstretched.

A fond smile tugged at his lips.

He placed the blanket over them both and resumed his earlier spot at his brother’s side, only this time he tugged his feet under him and snuggled into the blanket as well. He still wondered what had happened and what role Stark had played in it, but that was something to contemplate another time.

_Tomorrow, just like Steve said._

Jefferson slid closer and leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder. His hand snaked around the hard plains of his brother’s metal arm until it found what it was looking for and interlaced its fingers with Bucky’s. The metal was too hard against his temple and the smell of cold smoke still hung in the air, unpleasant and mixed with dust and chemicals, nothing like the wooden and resinous smell that lingered in one’s clothes after a night around a campfire. And his neck would certainly kill him in the morning should he fall asleep like that.

Nothing about this situation was especially desirable, let alone perfect, and yet he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not for all the money in the world.

 

 

 

Leaving the bedroom Steve pulled the dark-blue longsleeve over his still slightly damp hair and down his sides while crossing the hallway, nodding his greeting to the three workmen who were currently in the process of removing the damaged doorframe. The clean smell of the fabric put a contented smile on his lips. Even after a long, hot shower with scented bodywash and shampoo it would still take a while to get rid of the phantom smell of cold smoke that seemed to be burned into his nose. He heard the water running as he passed the bathroom door where Bucky had vanished to take a shower as well.

The sound made him feel light and carefree.

Bucky was back and he was okay. Whatever had happened, it was over, at least for now.

And he remembered. No matter how often that thought struck him, it still made him insanely happy.

He stepped into the kitchen, following the delicious smell of Jefferson’s cooking. The table was already set, fresh fruit and yoghurt, jam and an ensemble of cheese waiting for them while toast and waffles and pancakes were spreading their sweet aroma. On each of their plates a breakfast egg was waiting, adorned with an egg cozy – _where did he get_ those _?_ A box with cereals stood to the side, next to an assembly of nuts and berries and- was that porridge?

The man had outdone himself this time. Well, as he’d been the first to wake – which wasn’t very surprising since he’d been the only one who’d gotten a couple hours of sleep beforehand, although involuntarily – Jefferson’d had a lot of time at his hands to prepare- _this_.

Sniffing into the air he savored the wonderful mixture of smells and followed his nose to the source of one in particular: coffee.

The other man eyed him with a chuckle and held out a mug for him, full of coffee with a touch of milk, just the way he liked it.

“You have no idea how good that smells,” he admitted, inhaling the rich scent.

Jefferson cocked one eyebrow at him. “Oh yes, I do. You weren’t the only one present during your and your uniform’s attack on our olfactory nerves. I’m still wondering how Bucky could stand it with his nose practically pressed into it.”

Another fond smile tugged at his lips. Waking up that morning had been the best feeling he’d experienced in a very, very long time. Better than finding Bucky. Hell, even better than Bucky getting his memories back.

That morning had been a sign.

A sign that this was real. All of it. It had never felt more real than then.

And a sign that they would be okay.

_Awareness returned slowly. His neck was killing him. There was an unpleasant taste in his mouth and he felt itchy. A weight was pressing against his left side. A weight that shifted ever so slightly and that tickled his neck and cheek._

_Bucky!_

_Within a second he was completely awake, wallowing in the presence of his best friend. He remembered and – even if it was only in his sleep – he sought comfort in touch again. Those last weeks he’d longed to hug his friend or clap him on the shoulder, stuff they’d done all the time before. But not anymore._

_Until now._

_Slowly he opened his eyes to look down on his friend. Soft light was spilling into the room. Bucky snuggled against him – against his soiled and reeking uniform – and slept deeply. He wouldn’t disturb him. No matter how long he’d be sleeping. And if that meant sitting here till tomorrow then so be it._

He still fed on the relief from last night.

Learning from Jarvis that Bucky’d been with Tony had given the word “dread” a whole new meaning. And seeing his friend – or what he’d thought to be his friend at that time – lying there in the lab just like on the pictures from Hydra, strapped to a table to be experimented on, he’d forgotten all about his worry for Tony and snapped. Even after it had been revealed as nothing but a scan of his friend, with the real one moving freely and unharmed, he’d been torn between strangling Tony for laying hands on Bucky at all, no matter in which way, and making sure that Bucky was okay. In the end he’d done the second, just a quick check, before he’d opted for demanding answers instead. Which might have come out much angrier than he’d intended, but his emotions had been all over the place.

_I’ve done wrong by Tony. I might not understand what happened between the two of them, but despite everything that did happen he hadn’t gone through with any of his threats. Instead he helped Bucky._

Deep in his thoughts he drank from his coffee.

He needed to apologize to Tony. And no matter the cozy, happy feelings of this morning, they still needed to talk. All of them. He needed some explanations and answers.

Soft footsteps in the hallway announced Bucky’s arrival – it was rare to hear him coming, most likely he did it on purpose for their sakes. Steve sat down at what had become his spot and took another sip.

Talking could wait a little while longer. At least until after breakfast. The kitchen wasn’t the right place for this anyway, not with the workers in the hall who could overhear every word. No, that conversation was more suited for a more private setting.

And they all deserved a quiet meal in peace for once.

“Whoa,” Bucky stopped dead in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on the table, his gaze quickly searching for the person responsible. “I wasn’t gone that long, was I? How did you do all that in the time I went to the bathroom?”

Steve chuckled, a warm feeling spreading through his chest at Bucky’s comical expression. Open and honestly bewildered, not subdued like these last weeks. As if now that the barrier of his memory was gone his emotions could reach back down into the depth of his very being again.

He grinned over the rim of his mug and shrugged. “Something tells me,” he cocked an eyebrow at Jefferson who sat down, looking smug, “that we’ll never know.”

The former portal jumper grabbed for the plate with the still steaming waffles and broke a small piece off. “Who knows. Maybe, if you prove worthy, I might share my secret with you one day.” He plopped the piece of waffle into his mouth and grinned. “Maybe.”

“Punk!”

“Jerk!”

That comeback had left his lips without even thinking. It was just such a natural response to this kind of bantering. And he hadn’t been the only one throwing around insults at Jefferson that were clearly meant as endearments. 

His eyes locked with Bucky’s over the table and for a second they just stared at each other. Something eased up inside of him, a tight knot of fear and dread and whatnot that he hadn’t even been aware of. His friend looked just as shocked as he felt. Shocked yes, but in a good way.

Jefferson’s sudden laugh caught him by surprise and brought him back to the present.

“My, my, the envy’s talking already!”

For a second he didn’t follow, but when he did, he had to shake his head at the ridiculousness of it all. He looked at Jefferson then at Bucky. And the next moment he was laughing so hard he had to hold his belly. As did the others.

It really wasn’t _that_ funny. And yet it so definitely was.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They deserved a little bit of rest after that hell of a night, don't you think?
> 
> There's a lot to adress after everything that's happened, but that can wait until tomorrow:  
> Part Four: Overload - We Need to Talk


	17. Part Four: Overload - Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a long overdue conversation.

**Part Four: Overload**

We Need to Talk

 

Every good thing had to come to an end and they knew it. The longer their breakfast dragged on the more he could feel that diffuse tension rising up. It wasn’t something tangible but it was there and they all felt it.

Steve only knew how he felt, which was confusing enough. A strange mixture of wanting answers, of somehow dreading them, of wanting to preserve that moment right now, that carefree atmosphere of their shared meal while knowing that it was impossible. There was a world out there and they needed to get back there sooner or later. They needed to face some questions that neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Tony. Hydra. But most of all: what now?

They cleared the table together and cleaned everything up before they headed for the couch, armed with nothing but a glass of juice, a bottle of coke and a big mug of tea. The sun stood high in the sky – it had been a rather late breakfast due to Bucky’s sleeping in. It shone brightly behind the softly tinted windows, filling the room with a warm light.

It couldn’t diffuse the tension, though.

The questions seemed to hang in the air between them, unspoken, separating them from each other. Only after he’d sat down Steve realized that they’d split up in their sitting arrangement. Where they’d been seated next to each other last night, close enough to touch one another, they now occupied three different pieces of furniture. Bucky on the armchair and he and Jefferson opposite from each other on the ends of the two big couches, framing Bucky.

He didn’t like it.

And he didn’t like the silence either.

Just as he was about to say something, to pick one of the floating questions out of the air and put them out in the open, his friend beat him to it.

“I guess I owe you an explanation.”

Steve shook his head. “No. You don’t _owe_ us anything, Buck.”

“I’d just like to _understand_ ,” Jefferson said, leaving unspoken to what exactly he was referring to.

The ghost of a smile flitted across Bucky’s face, just for a tiny moment. And it wasn’t a happy one. “I know.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand along his scrubby chin – they had a razor in the bathroom but obviously this new Bucky, no matter the memories, still preferred his stubble – before he pulled up one leg against his chest and crossed both his hands at his shin.

“I couldn’t handle it. The memories. After you left…” Bucky looked up for a second to glance at him, then he fixed his eyes back on the table. “It was as if a floodgate had opened. They came back all at once. Hydra, you, the war. I couldn’t make it stop. It felt…,“ he paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Steve could only imagine how hard this was for him. Even before the war Bucky had never been one to talk about his feelings. It had always taken a lot of nagging and knowing him very, very well to get something out of him. At least enough to work out the rest for oneself. He held his breath, fascinated and alarmed at the same time.

“It felt like losing myself all over again. I- don’t know- I haven’t been thinking- I just needed to get out.”

“Out and up on the roof,” Jefferson mused, nodding absently as if to confirm his own line of thinking. He’d pulled up one leg underneath his other one, like sitting tailor-fashion, but only halfway. “You always went to high up places to clear your head.” He blinked and fixed his brother with a sympathetic frown. There was no reproach in his voice when he almost whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky shrugged. Steve couldn’t tell if he didn’t know the answer or if he didn’t want to tell them. Damn, he felt helpless again and he hated that.

_I shouldn’t have left last night. I should’ve stayed here._

_Maybe I could’ve…_

But he disregarded that thought even before he’d finished it. He wouldn’t have been able to help most likely, and even if he would’ve… there was no point in pondering possibilities of something that was already done and couldn’t be changed now. He just wished he’d known that his friend was suffering. No, he’d wished…

_That’s just the same, Steve. What’s done is done._

He pressed his lips together. 90 years worth of memories. All at once. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the confusion that would cause. Or the panic. No wonder Bucky’d lost it.

“How did you end up in Tony’s lab?“ he asked. Well, “how come Tony didn’t kill you on sight after everything” was the question he _really_ wanted answered.

Bucky snorted and actually met his eyes for a moment. There was something nostalgic in his smile, as well as something deeply, deeply painful in his eyes.

“Howard.”

“Huh?” Jefferson wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “Who?“

“Tony’s father,” Bucky explained with a glance to his twin and leaned closer against his pulled up leg, hugging it as if he were seeking comfort in it.

There was something missing, obviously, because that made no sense at all. “I don’t understand.”

“We talked about him.”

Well, that gave rise to even more questions instead of answering them. Tony’d been so damn angry all the time these last weeks, Steve couldn’t imagine him to just step up to Bucky and start a civil conversation about his dead father. With said father’s murderer of all people. After an escape attempt. No, there was definitely something missing here.

_Wait. They talked about Howard? Really?_

_Whenever I mention Howard Tony always waves it off or changes subject._

He’d always assumed that Tony just didn’t want to talk about his father – especially after he’d learned about their complicated relationship from Natasha. Maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk about his dad with _him_.

“Sorry, but no… I don’t get this. That guy threatened to lock you up for eternity and ‘dismantle’ you for research purposes because you- you know, um- killed his parents and now you want to tell me you two just _talked_?”

Jefferson’s incredulous tone focused his thoughts back on topic again. The other man looked just as bewildered as he himself felt.

Bucky shook his head, a thoughtful, absent-minded look on his face, as if his eyes were turned inward. “I remembered Howard. I remembered watching him die.” The muscles in his jaw jumped for a second as he pressed his lips together, hard. And the grip of his fingers tightened, turning them almost white against the dark background of his black jeans and the gleaming metal of his other hand.

That memory alone must have been hell for Bucky. He and Howard had shared a friendship once, an unlikely one at first glance, one that wouldn’t have been possible without the war but one based on a shared driving curiosity and fascination for technology.

“Tony was pissed when he confronted me on the roof. I- I was so confused, I mistook him for Howard.”

Jefferson grabbed for his tea, not to drink, but to have something to occupy his hands judging from his fidgeting with the cup. He couldn’t hold it against him. Letting that statement sink in he could feel a knot of unease build in his stomach that quickly tightened as he thought about all the implications.

Bucky blinked and made an effort to relax his tense muscles a bit. He shrugged with a sigh. “I don’t know why or how but suddenly he was pissed at Hydra instead. And we ended up talking. The focus helped keeping a somewhat clear head through the slowly ebbing flood of memories.“

His friend might feel clueless here but Steve was pretty sure that he knew the answer to that. It wasn’t hard to see that anguish on Bucky’s face, the shame in his hunched posture and the guilt in the lines around his eyes. There was no doubt about his remorse. And if Tony had seen the same, if he had paused for just a second and _really_ looked at him…

“Then how did you end up in his lab? He didn’t- he didn’t force you, did he?” Jefferson leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the mug clasped between his fingers like a lifeline.

The transformation was instant. Bucky’s whole face scrunched up into a grimace of utter bewilderment – and Steve couldn’t help being ashamed of feeling relieved at that reaction. He’d love to say that he knew that Tony would never do something like that, but after the last few weeks he honestly hadn’t been sure anymore.

Bucky shook his head. “No, he just… he offered to repair the arm.” And he lifted it up a bit as if to specify which one he meant.

_Okay, that’s not surprising. Tony’d wanted to get a look at it from the very beginning._

But it was a long road from “taking it apart” to “make it work again”.

He was torn out of his thoughts as his friend’s face suddenly lit up. All the way to his eyes.

“You should’ve seen him work, Stevie. So focused and… it looked so easy. And _natural_. Just like Howard. Only with different equipment.“

Steve had a hard time concentrating on anything after “Stevie“. The last time Bucky had called him that – without the intent of teasing him – had been sometime in their teens. And he’d only ever done that – apart from the teasing of course – if he’d been really excited about something. Just as he was now. The pain was still there, underneath it all, but his eyes were gleaming in wonder and his lips parted in awe.

He was just about to throw all his resolutions overboard and tackle his unsuspecting best friend into a bear hug when a knock against their door – their _living room_ door – made him freeze.

Bucky jumped and Jefferson nearly spilled his tea before he frowned and got up. He opened the door.

Although it hid the unwelcome guest from his eyes – “intruder” felt more fitting at the moment – he could identify the person speaking as one of the workers who informed them that the front door was repaired. Not with the same model, but a sufficient replacement that should work within the same parameters.

The former thief gave his thanks with a friendly smile that fell the moment he closed the door. A pinched expression took its place as his shoulders sagged and he slumped sideways against the wall.

“Remind me again why we didn’t make a run for it while we still could?”

 

 

 

Steve didn’t know how to bring it up apart from being blunt, but he didn’t want to sour the mood again now that it had brightened up a bit. And he certainly didn’t want to make Bucky shut up again for feeling pressured or something. Especially not when he was finally talking. Although he was very careful to avoid his time with Hydra, even now.

He hadn’t noticed it before – maybe he had on a subconscious level but hadn’t _wanted_ to notice it – that even though Bucky’d talked with them at first, about his memories, about what he remembered from Hydra, he’d never _really_ talked about it. Not the way he should have. It had always been kind of detached. Professional, like a report, as if those things hadn’t had anything to do with him on a personal level. He’d never talked about what those memories made him feel, how they affected him. Well, he wasn’t surprised; Bucky had always kept those things close to his heart. He himself wasn’t much better.

Sam might be right, though. Keeping stuff like that to oneself didn’t make it go away. He needed to talk about it. Sooner or later. Now, that he got his memories back, maybe even more than before.

He really could relate to Bucky on this one. To not wanting to talk. He really could. Waking up in the future after fighting a war and losing a friend, finding oneself without purpose only to suddenly be faced with aliens and Hydra and his long lost friend on the side of the enemy, it had eaten away at him but he just hadn’t been able to talk about it. Hadn’t even known where to start. Until Sam had coaxed it out of him, bit by bit, without him even realizing at the beginning.

Talking to Sam about all of it, unburdening himself… he hadn’t thought it possible but it had helped. Tremendously.

And he wished the same for his friend now.

If only he knew how to bring it up without achieving the opposite.

_Wait a little bit. You don’t have to jump this on him right now. Give him some time to adjust and be happy that he’s talking at all._

_Maybe he’ll open up to Jefferson…_

“Please excuse this rude interruption, Sirs,” Jarvis’s voice suddenly filled the room, startling them all for a moment, “but Mr. Stark wants you to know that he’s on his way.”

“He’s coming _here_?” Jefferson exclaimed, somewhere between shock and disbelief.

While it still surprised Steve he also didn’t miss the meaning behind it. “When will he be here?”

 _Did Jarvis just_ sigh _???_

“Since Mr. Stark gave the instruction with his usual foresight, he’ll be at your door in approximately ten seconds.”

He couldn’t help but role his eyes – and he was sure that somewhere Jarvis’s did the virtual equivalent. He also didn’t miss Bucky stifling a grin at that.

A moment later a familiar voice boomed from the hallway, “WILMA! I’M HOME!”

_Is he drunk?_

Judging by the other’s expressions he wasn’t the only one who’s thoughts turned into that – or a similar – direction.

The sound of footsteps followed, the door opened and Tony strode into the room, one of his big, flashy grins on his face. His casual attire of jeans and black T-shirt stood in utter contrast to his tuxedo from last night. The moment he laid eyes on them his grin got even wider for a moment, then his eyes narrowed a bit in a kind of mock-hurt way.

“Why’s nobody licking my face?”

Jefferson sat in his line of sight, turned sideways to get a good look at the newcomer. That’s the only reason he saw it, that expression that said “he’s completely lost his marbles”. And if the Mad Hatter who’d lived through the craziness of Wonderland sported an expression like that it had to say something.

Tony opened his arms in an encompassing gesture as if to urge them on to do something, but Steve was completely lost. A week ago he’d wished for the old Tony. It seemed he hadn’t thought that through.

The billionaire’s frown deepened before his face fell in utter resignation. Heaving a sigh he rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling and let his hands fall down at his sides.

“Come on, guys. Seriously? No one? The Flintsto… never mind.“

He’d suspected it to be a reference of some kind – after all, Tony threw pop culture references around like a stray dog fleas – but licking his face? What kind of reference were they talking about here? Well, it wouldn’t really surprise him if Stark was quoting a porno.

_Don’t go there, Steve, just don’t. You really don’t want to know what he and Pepper are up to when they’re alone._

Tony got over his hurt feelings rather quickly and stepped up to the couch, waving his hand at Jefferson in a shooing gesture. “Scoot over!”

Dumbfounded by the whole situation Jefferson did just that.

And Tony flopped down next to him, casually crossing his right ankle over his left knee. He leaned comfortably back into the cushions and placed his arms to either side of him along the backrest, looking every bit like an arrogant bastard who knows that he owns a place. Which he did, of course, but Steve knew him long enough to know that it wasn’t that. This was mostly just Tony the way he was: exuberant and relaxed. Only, it seemed a bit off to Steve. A bit too much. As if he were playing the Tony he thought he had to be instead of just being himself.

“Why are you here?” Jefferson didn’t beat around the bush. His voice was sharp, wary, and he somehow managed it to emphasize both the “you” and the “here” without it sounding strange.

Tony merely raised an eyebrow at the man next to him with something akin to a snort. “Because it’s my house?”

Steve rolled his eyes. The urge to burrow his face in his palm and rub the bridge of his nose became almost overwhelming. The soft snorts of laughter from Bucky distracted him, though.

“Besides,” Tony shrugged and fixed his dark eyes on him, “I remember being threatened last night.”

_What? I didn’t… did he mean… but that wasn’t…_

He got no chance to protest since the other man lifted one arm of the couch and held it up, wiggling his index finger in the way a parent would do towards a naughty child.

“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t try to deny it, Frosty. It _was_ a threat. And just so you know,“ he put his foot back down and leaned forward, flashing a grin that had more in common with a shark than anything else, “I don’t answer well to threats.”

_Why is every conversation with this man so damn difficult?_

No matter the circumstances he could never anticipate the billionaire’s moods. Certainly not since Bucky had stepped into the picture. Even Bucky, who’d seemed amused until now, tensed barely visibly at that display. Jefferson’s face hardened in anger.

_And all that just because I said that we “needed to talk” last night?_

“But,” Tony’s smile morphed back into his usual grin – casual and engaging and all the way unthreatening – and his whole posture just relaxed, “I’ll let it slide this time.” He leaned forward again, placing his elbows on his knees and looking up at him, the smile gone. His voice was low and, from one moment to the next, absolutely serious. “We really _DO_ need to talk after all.”

And all of a sudden the pieces fit together. Tony was nervous.

That’s why his mannerism was off. The “too much” was his way of covering his nerves.

But nonetheless he’d come here. He had sought them out, not waited for them to come to him.

A small smile tugged at Steve’s lips.

_You really need to apologize to him!_

“Tony, I-“

The other man held his hand up to silence him. And Steve shut up. But not because of that gesture alone. His friend looked unsure, which was unusual for him, and torn, as if actually voicing whatever he was about to say cost him quite some effort.

“I won’t hide behind my faults this time,” he said with a quick glance towards Bucky who relaxed and even leaned back into his chair, nodding encouragingly with a smile on his face.

It seemed that these words meant something to them. He, on the other hand, couldn’t really make sense of them.

“I was wrong about your friend and… I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

Steve barely registered Jefferson’s honestly surprised expression, he was too stunned himself. And at the same time he felt as if he could finally breathe again. He hadn’t realized how much it had troubled him to be wary of Tony and view him as some kind of adversary instead of a friend. An admission of being wrong _and_ an apology from one Tony Stark was a small wonder yet he didn’t care so much for it as he did for the feeling of having his friend back on his side again.

There was only one thing he needed to set right now.

“You had your reasons, so- apology accepted. And I hope you’ll accept mine as well. Last night, I thought you’ve overpowered Bucky and made him your lab rat against his will. I- what I’m trying to say is: I’m sorry I doubted you!”

Tony nodded, just a short, jerking movement.

The next moment he minutely shook his head and clapped his hands against his thighs. “Okay, enough of that.” And just like that his usual cocky grin was back on his face, an authentic one. It seemed as if he’d just shaken it all off, as if nothing had happened and everything was back to normal. Back to the way it had been before Bucky.

Steve had to look closely to notice the unease underneath. He may act as if everything was forgiven and forgotten but the last weeks, the change in their relationship, the things that had been said, that wouldn’t just go away. He’d been hurt and he was ashamed of being wrong. And if there’s one thing that could make Tony _really_ uncomfortable then it was emotional stuff like this. Not for the first time he wondered if he’d got Howard to thank for that.

“There’s something else I wanted to tell you.” This time he looked at them all in turn. “I had Jarvis run some research last night and I talked to two of my best lawyers this morning. About you.” He pointed at Bucky, who immediately frowned, his shoulders tense.

“You did what?” Jefferson asked, his voice dangerously low.

Steve wasn’t sure what to think.

“Hey,” Tony threw his arms up in defense, “they are 200% trustworthy, I promise. They work for me for a very, _very_ long time now. Believe me, they’ve dealt with my shit during my wild phase, they _can_ be trusted. I wouldn’t have talked to them otherwise. I know a lot of stuff but law isn’t my strong suit. Whatever, there’re still looking over the data, which isn’t too much I have to admit and if we’re taking up this fight they’d need much more, but- well, I can’t promise anything, but no matter what, I want you to know that you can count me on your team.”

Steve blinked. Unsure if he’d heard that right. And yet it shouldn’t surprise him. Tony’d never been one to do things halfway. “Wait. Are you saying, you’d have your own lawyers work Bucky’s case?”

Law was even less his strong suit than it was Tony’s. He knew, however, that Stark’s legal team had worked miracles after the battle of New York, for Stark but also the Avengers in general. Lending them to Bucky wasn’t just a generous offer, it would also mean that Tony was willing to put his own _name_ on the line in case things went south or in case the public didn’t agree at all. This had the potential to ruin him and yet…

“You’d do that for me?” Bucky asked, surprised and sheepish.

Tony shrugged, as if to say “sure, why not”. As if this wasn’t a big deal.

“Hold on,” Jefferson slid closer to the edge of the couch and sat up uncomfortably straight, worry oozing out of his every pore. “You think it’ll come to a public process?”

“Sooner or later, yes. He can’t hide forever.” Tony turned back to Bucky. “I’m not saying you should go out there and scream your existence into the world. Well, if you want to, that would be actually pretty cool. I’d like to see the faces of some-“ He stopped when his gaze fell on Steve’s irritated face.

It worked. It got him back on track.

“Anyway. I don’t care what you do as long as you’re not slipping back onto the dark side. Just know that you’ve got a place here if you want and that you’ve got my help and my protection.” Tony looked sideways at him, a remorseful smile on his lips and nothing but brutal honesty on his face. “Friends should have each other’s backs after all.” He fixed his gaze back on Bucky. “I won’t let anyone lock you away or treat you as a lab rat.”

Steve was lost for words. He knew Tony long enough to know that he didn’t make promises like that lightly. And he also knew his words about friends for what they were.

An apology. A promise. And a question.

Bucky acknowledged Tony with a sober nod, gratefulness easing the lines around his eyes.

His twin on the other hand seemed wary and mistrustful of the whole situation.

Before any of them could say something though, Tony pushed himself up, striding casually around the couch and looking around the room. He was flipping his hands together in the random way of someone who just couldn’t hold still for longer than a few minutes.

“I saw the new door’s all up and ready,” he said, waving in the general direction of the front door before he turned towards Bucky. “Nice job, by the way. Pointing out the flaws in the design. Took me some tinkering last night to get rid of them but I guess I found a way. Jarvis is running a simulation right now.”

The moment Steve caught up with his sudden change of subject his eyes narrowed a bit.

_What are you trying to say, Tony?_

“Great,” Jefferson huffed.

For a second Tony looked taken aback, almost confused, but shook it off quickly. “Anyway, Jarvis knows you’ve got free access to the building and most of its areas. So, feel free if you want to explore. There’s a nice place for Shawarma a few blocks over. Steve knows it. If you keep a low profile,” at this point he clapped Bucky’s shoulder while passing him, “it should be fine.”

Was he suggesting…?

He wasn’t the only one confused and unsure if he’d heard right. Jefferson frowned so hard Steve’s brow hurt just from watching and Bucky looked up at Tony, his head tilted to the side.

“A few blocks over?”

Tony halted, pursing his lips in bewilderment and his eyes jumped from one of them to the next. “Yeah?” he answered, although it sounded more like a question. “What’s so hard to understand? I told you already you’re free to go.“

Steve sat up straighter while Jefferson’s mouth dropped open. Bucky merely shrugged his head and replied dryly, “No, you didn’t.”

“Oh, I thought I’d- well, now you know. Doors are open. I won’t lock you up against your will any longer. Maybe I shouldn’t have to begin with. But in my defense, my experience with former Hydra assassins is pretty limited.“

Well, that was as close to an apology as one usually got from Tony.

Bucky snorted. Not a derisive one, but an amused one. It made Steve wonder again what exactly had transpired between those two on that roof last night.

“I would’ve done the same,” Bucky said.

Tony acknowledged that with a cocky grin. “Great. That’s settled then. I’m still not sure about you, though,“ he said, turning his attention on Jefferson, who raised a challenging eyebrow at that. “You’re an unknown variable. And I really hate unknown variables. There’s just too many things about you that don’t add up. I can’t promise to not probing but I’m going to trust in the good Captain’s judgement for once and give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“I’m just his brother.”

“So everyone keeps saying.”

“He really is, Tony,” Bucky said and the billionaire shrugged after one last skeptical look at Jefferson. He stepped behind the couch and leaned his elbows on the backrest, his hands crossed and an eager expression lighting up his face as he gazed past Steve towards Bucky.

“I’ve been looking into the scans we did. Improving that sensory output might get a bit tricky but hey, I live for a good challenge.”

And just like that Tony started talking science, getting more and more excited by the minute, while Bucky slid forward on the armchair, sitting merely on the edge, attentive and intrigued. He asked questions, threw in some comments now and then and before Steve was sure what was happening his two friends were engaged in a heated discussion about sensors and metal alloys.

He understood enough to know that Tony had obviously been looking into ways to improve the metal arm by adding more sensors that would enable Bucky to better feel touch and pressure, but also by adding sensors that would allow for temperature detection. It was fascinating to watch them interact, to see the old enthusiasm for everything technological glowing in his friend’s eyes. Nonetheless, if Tony got into full flow he could talk for hours.

_Time to leave them to themselves._

He tried to draw Jefferson’s attention and nodded towards the door as soon as he got it. The other man seemed reluctant at first but relented as Steve got up, around the armchair and tapped him on the shoulder. Together they left towards the kitchen. The last thing he heard before the automatic door closed silently behind him were the words “install a rocket launcher”.

Shaking his head at Tony’s antics he relaxed his shoulders and marveled at the happy calm he felt. There was no worry about leaving them alone in the living room.

The relief was immense.

And made him smile.

“Are you sure about him?” Jefferson’s low and uncertain voice made him turn. The other man was leaning against the counter, playing nervously with a table spoon he’d picked up from the counter. “I mean, does he really mean what he said? About protecting Bucky? Last thing I know he was all about revenge and now-“, he waved a bit helplessly towards the living room, “ _this_! I just can’t figure him out.”

Steve huffed out a laugh and picked up a grape from the fruit basket. “He’s not making it easy.” While chewing he picked up some more grapes into his hand and leaned against the counter opposite of Jefferson. “Tony seems larger than life sometimes. He can be excessive and obnoxious and he’s certainly stubborn and hot-tempered. Overall a bit rough around the edges, but underneath it all he’s one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. Somehow Bucky made him see the truth. So, yes, I’m sure about him.”

Jefferson abandoned the spoon in favor of running a hand through his hair with a snort. “Excessive is one way to put it. It’s just- it happened so damn fast.”

He shrugged. “He’s not doing things by halves. If he believes in something he’s all in. I shouldn’t have doubted him.”

_I really shouldn’t have. Tony’s just too damn good at building walls around him to keep people out. Especially when he feels betrayed._

The dark-haired sighed. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They settled into a comfortable silence. Jefferson seemed to relax slowly and after a while they shared a cup of coffee and talked. Nothing fancy, nothing profound, just a nice chat between friends. Sometime after establishing that Jefferson should call Grace later and tell her the good news that her uncle got his memories back and that he himself needed to call Sam their gazes started turning more and more often towards the sliding door.

“Should we get back? They can’t possibly still be talking about improvements to the arm, can they?”

Steve snorted. “You have no idea! Tony can go on forever if you let him. Maybe we should go and save Bucky before he’ll end up with a whole weapons’ arsenal installed into his arm. Or an entertainment system.“

Jefferson chuckled. Surely he thought it a joke. He wasn’t so sure himself.

He tapped the button that opened the door to the living room and it slid open without making a sound, revealing Tony and Bucky who were still deeply in conversation. Bucky stood behind the armchair, right hand on the backrest, his left thumb and index finger rubbing along his cheeks until they met at his chin. Tony sat on the couch table, his whole being completely focused on the man right in front of him. Their voices carried easily and reached Steve’s ears even before the door was completely open.

„I’m… I’m just afraid that they get to me again,” he heard Bucky admit. Subdued and with a desperate helplessness in his voice. There was a stubbornness in his posture, though, that was so typically Bucky it made Steve bit his lip. His hand reached out immediately and grabbed Jefferson’s shoulder, holding him in place. Just in case he held a finger in front of his lips to shush any possible comments – a quick glance out of the corner of his eyes told him that it wasn’t necessary. Together they stood there and stared at the scene in front of them.

Tony smirked, a bit patronizing. “Don’t underestimate the security of this place. Hydra’d have a pretty hard time getting in here.”

Bucky shook his head, his hair fell like a curtain around his face and made it impossible for Steve to see his friend properly. “No, I’m not afraid to face them. To fight them. I’m…” He halted, unsure.

“You’re afraid they’ll get in here again,” Tony said, tapping his temple.

Bucky nodded reluctantly. By the way his head was turned low he was most likely averting his eyes from the billionaire’s. He pushed away suddenly and started pacing between the couch and the wall. “They did it before. Scrambled my thoughts. Ripped everything out and filled my head anew. They made me _believe_ in them. I don’t… I don’t ever want to be controlled like that again!”

He’d heard enough. This was a private conversation and he wasn’t about to intrude. And he wouldn’t listen in either. So he pressed the button again and watched the door close. For a second the silence was so loud he had to take a deep breath to brace against it.

“He’s talking,” Jefferson said, perplexed.

“Yes, he is.”

The relief came slowly, what with having to struggle through his surprise.

He’d wished for Bucky to open up, to really talk about his experiences, about how he felt, all of that. Confiding in someone. He’d loved to have been that person. He’d thought he might talk with Jefferson. Obviously he’d been wrong.

Never in a thousand years he’d expected him to open up to Tony of all people.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, things have a way of turning out differently than expected, Steve ;)
> 
> So, tomorrow it's time for the next part:  
> Part Five: Off-Guard - Grab a Knife


	18. Part Five: Off-Guard - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding time...

**Part Five: Off-Guard**

Grab a Knife

 

“Catch!”

The shout upon entering the kitchen caught Bucky off-guard. Luckily his reflexes never failed him. His hands shot up immediately to grab the red missile out of the air before it had the chance to smack him in the face. It turned out to be a red pepper. Steve next to him was catching a lemon.

“Come on guys! The food isn’t going to cook itself, you know.”

Jeff was leaning against the counter, the sleeves of his ridiculously posh looking light green paisley shirt – today accompanied by a dark green satin vest and cravat – were pushed up to his elbows and his arms crossed in front of his chest. And he was sporting the mother of all smug grins.

One of Bucky’s eyebrows climbed high on his forehead, acknowledging and accepting the challenge. He took a step to the side towards Steve and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially into his ear.

Well, he didn’t really whisper. In fact he didn’t lower his voice at all.

“He’s enjoying this way too much.”

Steve absentmindedly tossed the lemon up and caught it again in his hand as if it were a baseball and nodded. “Oh yes. That he is.”

Jeff grinned and winked at them and opened his arms to place them on either side on the counter behind him, posing as if he were the boss. “Of course I am. How often do you get the chance to order two super soldiers around, huh?”

Steve snorted. “In your case? Way too often!”

Bucky chuckled at his brother’s mock indignant expression.

Steve had a point there.

So did Jeff.

It was time to get started. They’d agreed earlier that after last night and this day of difficult and serious talks there wouldn’t be any mentioning of Hydra, of his memories or anything the like for the rest of the day. They would just enjoy the evening and each other’s company, relax and leave difficult topics, the past and thinking about the future for tomorrow.

Of course Jeff had suggested cooking together.

And right now Bucky was really looking forward to letting go of his worries and insecurities and just _be_ , without pondering if remembering made it easier to figure out who he was now or not. Without pondering if the good things in his past really had a chance to outweigh the monstrous things he’d done for decades.

For this evening, there was no pondering at all.

No tension, no expectations.

But excellent food.

All that rummaging around had really made him hungry.

After letting it slip that he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep in the guestroom anymore – after weeks of nightmares and one night of memory-overload even looking at that bed made him twitchy and uneasy – the others had been adamant about changing places with him. Obviously his choice of sleeping on the couch wasn’t to their liking. They’d both offered to take the guestroom, but he’d noticed their reluctance. He guessed that each of them wanted to share the room with him, to be close to their friend and brother, yet neither of them wanted the other to be left out. In the end he’d just grabbed his mattress and dragged it into their room to place it on the floor against the wall. Why make things unreasonably complicated?

He didn’t possess much, but Steve had helped him make some room to get his stuff over nonetheless. Even if it was mostly just clothes that weren’t even his but provided by Tony. Obviously, as he’d learned, pushing shoes and backpacks out of the way could lead to very interesting – and unexpected – findings. Like a Glock 17, 9mm, semi-automatic, first generation, with eight rounds in the magazine in his brother’s backpack. He still wondered if that was the weapon he’d shot Rumlow with.

Bucky nudged Steve with his shoulder. “I’d suggest switching being in charge of the kitchen. For fairness, but-,” he stepped into the room and turned around mid-sentence to shrug towards the blond, “that would be pretty stupid. Out of all of us he’s the only one who actually _knows_ what he’s doing in here.”

“Exactly!” Jeff drawled. “Therefore- get going and grab a knife!”

He turned again and faced his brother who stood there, still leaning against the counter but now he was holding out a knife in each hand.

And he paused, the memory of grabbing a knife and turning back into the Winter Soldier vivid in his mind.

_That won’t happen. Not this time._

_Right?_

He searched his brother’s gaze. Searched for an answer to his question.

There was a quiet reassurance underneath his playfulness.

And he went for it. But just as he was about to grab one of the knives, determined to stay in the here and now and ready to face whatever job awaited him, Jeff pulled his hand back.

“You washed up, right? I don’t want any of that sweat dripping into my dinner.”

Torn between disbelief and an irritated pout – of course he’d washed up, dammit – Bucky chose option three. It wasn’t really a conscious decision, more a gut reaction. With one lightning quick motion he smacked the back of his twin’s head. “Jerk!”

“Ouch!”

“I think that means ‘yes’,” Steve said as he took the other knife out of Jeff’s hand, trying for a stoic face but his twitching lips gave his mirth away.

_I was working out. Of course I took a shower Mr. High-and-Mighty._

After that conversation with Tony he’d needed that work-out. Some time to exert himself and think the other’s words over. Voicing his fears hadn’t been easy, but after last night he’d had this strange feeling that Tony _knew_ more than he let on. It had been the right decision to trust his gut feeling.

_“I’m… I’m afraid that they get to me again.“ The words almost didn’t come out. He hated how vulnerable they made him._

_Tony tilted his head, his lips arching into a reassuring smile. And maybe a tad patronizing. “Don’t underestimate the security of this place. Hydra’d have a pretty hard time getting in here.”_

_“No, I’m not afraid to face them. To fight them. I’m…” He couldn’t voice it. His fear. His weakness. It was choking him. Even now._

_“You’re afraid they’ll get in here again.” The other man mused, tapping his index finger against his temple._

_He nodded reluctantly, his eyes on his own hands that were gripping the backrest of the armchair, unable to face Tony. He pushed away and started pacing along the couch, this whole topic too agitating to keep still. “They did it before. Scrambled my thoughts. Ripped everything out and filled my head anew. They made me believe in them. I don’t… I don’t ever want to be controlled like that again!”_

_There. He’d said it. He’d finally said out loud what haunted him. What had haunted him even before he’d gotten his memories back._

_Tony stood up and faced him. “Then you won’t.”_

_That certainty in the other’s voice confused him. Irritated him._

_“Easy for you to say. You don’t know what it’s like. They’ve already messed with my memory. Who knows what else they’ve messed with inside my head?”_

_“You’re afraid of being vulnerable to them. An easy target. I get that.” Tony fidgeted a bit, unsure for a second, then he shrugged and rolled his eyes in a “what the hell”-gesture and pulled his shirt up. The unexpected motion revealed a heavily scarred area right in the middle of his chest._

_Bucky frowned. Stepped closer. Even raised his hand, unconsciously, as if to touch. He was confused what this was about, but also appalled that this man in front of him, who had helped him – Howard’s son – had been hurt like that. “What happened?“_

_Tony pulled the shirt back into place and replied in an almost dismissive tone, “Got a load of shrapnel in my chest and kidnapped by terrorists who wanted me to build them a weapon of mass destruction. So I spent three months in an Afghan cave, working on a weapon, just not the one they were expecting. And all the while those pieces of metal in my chest threatened to rip my heart to shreds.”_

_He hadn’t seen that coming. And while he was still shocked and felt sorry for his friend’s son he started to realize that this man might actually understand him. In some way. Better than Steve at least. Well, he knew that his brother most likely understood him better than he wanted him to, but there was something that kept him from talking to him. Maybe it was because their relationship was new and he wanted it to be as close as it had been once, but he didn’t want to rebuild it upon_ this _._

_“How did you survive?”_

_“By using my strength.” The dark-haired grinned a devilish smile as he tapped against his temple again. Even if he weren’t a Stark it would be clear that he was talking about his brain. And that he was insanely proud of it. “I built a device that kept the shrapnel from entering my heart.” He crossed the room to the bar, frowned and, after a quick search, came up with a heavy sigh and a small bag of peanuts instead of a drink – no idea where he’d found the peanuts but here they were. “That same device was almost killing me later but that’s another story. The important thing is this: what you see as a weakness, as something your enemies can use against you and exploit, can turn into strength.”_

_No. No, he didn’t see how being susceptible to Hydra’s mind games could be anything but a weakness._

_“How can it be a strength that they can get into my head this easily? How can it be a strength that they might have messed even more with my head than I realize? Tell me, Tony? How?”_

_“Simply by knowing about it, Barnes.” The man ripped the bag open and inhaled the salty, nutty scent with a grin. “By being prepared. By not giving up. By accepting this weakness as part of you and growing with it in time. And by relying on your friends. On people you trust implicitly.”_

_Thinking over those words he realized that somewhere along the line he’d stopped pacing close to the other man and had stopped averting his eyes. Instead he faced the man in front of him. Looked him full in the eye, unafraid of what that man might see in him. There was no need for hiding. Tony_ knew _and Bucky was willing to take every bit of wisdom he could get._

_“So, what you’re saying is, that I don’t have to do this alone. And that I can use that knowledge to anticipate their plan of attack. That I can prepare for it and be one step ahead of them?”_

_Tony grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Peanut?” The bag of nuts was suddenly right in front of him._

_Startled, he shook his head. The engineer merely shrugged, shook a couple of peanuts into his palm and popped the whole bunch into his mouth. Tony kept silent, letting him process those ideas. He hadn’t thought about it like that before. And the other man gave him all the time he needed while munching on his snack and strolling around the room._

_In the end Bucky pushed it all aside for later contemplation. There was something else that he was curious about. Even if it might sound stupid._

_“So, those shrapnel inside you, they made you- stronger?”_

_Nothing in Tony’s reaction hinted at him thinking the question stupid, though. “Yes, in a way they did. I’m not talking physical strength here. Those shrapnel almost killed me a few times. Nevertheless, they were always a reminder. It just took some time to see it.” He placed the empty bag on the table and came closer again, the seriousness in his eyes betraying his nonchalant exterior. “Those- weaknesses, they aren’t a reminder of what you lost or what was done to you. They’re a reminder of what you survived! Of what you’re capable of overcoming and of what you gained. Be it freedom. Or independence. Or a new awareness.”_

A knife was finally pressed into his hands. He held his breath for a second, prepared for his mind to jump right into battle, but nothing happened. His brother directed him without hesitation to the side of the countertop where he had the wall at his back. A big pile of vegetables and two bowls awaited him. Of course it didn’t take long for instructions to follow.

“Alright. I guess that’s self-explanatory,” he said, pointing at the heap of zucchinis, red and yellow peppers, eggplants and two cloves of garlic. “Just cut it all up. Not too small, but not too big either. Start with the eggplants. They need being salted and rubbed down after ten minutes.”

Jeff stepped around him to the other side of the counter and turned towards Steve who had his “work station” opposite from him.

“These herbs need washing,” Jeff pointed at a green pile. “Then mince them and mix them into the fresh cheese, as well as juice and zest of the lemon.”

“And what are you going to do?” Bucky asked skeptically. “Watch us work and enjoy your power?”

His brother waggled his eyebrow. “Sounds compelling. But no. Someone has to take care of the chicken breasts.”

So they got to work. The teasing started soon afterwards when Steve made a show of pointing out Jeff’s “tender touch” with the “breasts”. From there on it developed a life of its own.

“You’re supposed to cut the herbs into small pieces not mash them up!” he nagged the blond while he started to dab the eggplant pieces dry after their salt treatment.

“Shut up and concentrate on massaging your eggplant!”

“He’s right, you know. Better put those herbs into the cheese before you kill them,” Jeff interjected.

Bucky watched his friend mix and spice the filling for their chicken breasts then stared down at the halved zucchini on his cutting board. “How come that he gets to actually _do_ something while I’m just good enough for cutting vegetables? He’s lousy at seasoning.”

His complaints only led to a nonchalant shrug. Jeff didn’t even look up from cutting a bag into one of the chicken breasts. “I’ve heard you’ve got a knack for knives.”

And just like that the last of his uncertainty about handling a knife vanished and turned into incredulity.

_He’s either admirable or stupid._

_Or maybe both._

It wasn’t like the interaction with his brother that he remembered – of course it wasn’t, they’d been little boys back then. It also wasn’t like the interaction that he remembered with Steve. This felt different. But good different.

He enjoyed it. The camaraderie. The light-heartedness.

This was something new.

Something that had the potential to feel like home.

Something that could help him overcome the monster that was still lurking just beneath the surface.

He made a show of demonstrating how “good with a knife” he really was and chopped the rest of the vegetables up in no time. It felt good to have two hands at his disposal again. Tony’d done a great job. His mobility was just as it had been before and the fact that it was a bit harder to get a feeling for the soft zucchini than the hard metal of a weapon wasn’t new to him. The sensors in his fingertips and palm had been designed with fighting and handling guns in mind and not gentle caresses or handling vegetables.

_I wonder what it will feel like to touch a zucchini or to softly stroke skin if Tony’s plans for new sensors work out._

Those thoughts were for the future. And this evening was just about the presence.

Nonetheless he couldn’t help but stare at the unusual image right in front of him. Seeing his hands, one flesh and blood the other gleaming metal wasn’t new to him. But seeing them working with a knife to fill a bowl with chopped vegetables instead of fighting and killing certainly was. It felt strange. Surreal and fabulously ordinary at the same time.

Even though he’d easily come to terms with just having one hand to operate with he was glad to have his left one back now. It might be a reminder of Hydra, but that hand – that arm – had been a part of him for so long now, it _was_ a part of him, it was _his_ arm, regardless of where it came from. And he was happy to have it back.

He had Tony to thank for that. Like so many other things last night on that roof his offer to repair his arm had taken him completely by surprise. Just like his unexpected intuition which made sense now, given what he’d learned about the other man having been a prisoner to terrorists. They weren’t especially known to be gentle folk. And he suspected that the genius knew what it felt like to be at someone else’s mercy.

_“Hop on!”_

_Bucky’s eyes followed Stark’s pointing hand and he immediately froze. There was a chair. Surrounded by screens and technical gadgets. Part of him was trying to tell him that it wasn’t_ that _chair, that it didn’t even look the same, but the bigger part of him was having none of it. In his mind’s eye the chair turned into_ that _chair, pads and clamps and all. With an enormous amount of effort he ripped his gaze away, only to spot a metal gurney behind it. It could’ve been nothing but a table, but right in that moment that didn’t matter at all. Not to him._

_The unyielding touch of the clamps seemed to brush against his arms, seemed to grip him and hold him in place. Unable to escape. Unable to fight._

_The pain. It seared through him. A cruel current that singed body and mind alike._

_He felt his pulse beating in his throat and his muscles tensed, readying themselves to fight. Or to take flight. Or to fight to take flight. He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t be sure. Couldn’t seem to care. Just NOT that chair._

_Out._

_He needed to get…_

_“Coffee?”_

_All of a sudden something was right in front of him, blocking his line of sight onto chair and gurney alike. It was Stark. The smaller man held up a mug in one hand and waved the other to get his attention, a quizzical expression on his face. He took a cautious step back to get out of his immediate reach, glancing warily up at him. And yet he didn’t run._

_“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. What a stupid idea, jumping all the way to third base while skipping the other two. So, forget about it, okay? I get it. No need to rip my head off, Robocop. Alright? So, wanna join me for a cup of coffee? You certainly look as if you need one.”_

_Overwhelmed by all that rambling he tried to make sense of it, only to realize a moment later that it had successfully distracted him enough to keep his surging panic at bay. Unclenching his fist he nodded and found that he could move again. He followed Stark into a corner of his – lab? Workshop? – where a comfortable looking couch and a coffee machine awaited them._

_He tried to remember the name of the man in front of him. He was sure that he’d heard it before. In that infirmary maybe, when Stark had come to confront him?_

_But there was nothing. It was momentarily lost amongst the chaos in his head. A chaos that had calmed down significantly – thank God – ever since Stark had forced him to focus his thoughts on something else._

_Dammit, what was the man’s name? He hated calling him “Stark”. Even if it was only in his own head. Howard had been “Stark”. And every time he thought or spoke it out loud he saw his friend’s dying face again. Blood bubbling out of his mouth. Blood that he had put there._

_“Here.”_

_Stark was facing him and holding a mug towards him. Reluctantly he took it and sniffed at it. Looked like coffee. Smelled like coffee. But that didn’t guarantee a poison free drink. It never did. And the man in front of him had drugged him up before._

_The smaller man furrowed his brow at his reaction, then rolled his eyes and took the cup back. With a melodramatic sigh and a murmur that sounded suspiciously like “quite a handful, aren’t we” he took a big gulp only to thrust the mug back into his hands while his free hand shot up to his throat. His eyes popped open and he gasped loudly with his tongue out._

_“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! HOOOT!”_

_That display of impulsive stupidity also reminded him of Howard. But in a good way._

_It almost made him laugh. It certainly made him relax. And take a sip of the coffee – after blowing on it to cool it down a bit._

_Alternating between cursing and whining Stark led the way to the couch and they sat down, sipping at their drinks for a while._

_“May I have a look?”_

_He pushed his sleeve up to his elbow, baring the damaged area and holding it out for the other man to inspect. That was the reason he came here after all. It didn’t mean he had to feel comfortable – although this way was very much preferable to that chair from before. He demonstrated his range of mobility when asked and answered all the questions about what he could feel with the arm and hand now, compared to what he should be able to feel._

_The man surprised him by facing him again instead of keeping his attention on the arm._

_“Okay, listen. I gather you’ve already had enough nosy scientists poking around at you and I don’t want to add up to that list. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do! Although it would be great if you could just tell me if you’re uncomfortable with anything instead of punching me in the face. Deal?”_

_Too stunned to process this turn of events properly he simply nodded._

_“Good. So much for the ground rules. Now, back to topic,” Stark tapped against his forearm, his fingernail clinking against the metal. “The loss of mobility can partly be explained by the dents jamming the plates. But since you don’t feel pressure with your fingers anymore there has to be some damage to the inner workings as well.”_

_Bucky had guessed as much himself. But without an idea how the arm worked, let alone how to remove the plates, that knowledge hadn’t exactly helped him._

_“I had Jarvis take a surface scan of your arm when you were in the infirmary,” Tony admitted a bit sheepishly – although he seemed more embarrassed about his confession per se than invading his privacy. “Okay J, call up that scan and extrapolate the former shape of the damaged plates.”_

_“Of course, Sir.”_

_Although he’d gotten used to the bodiless voice of the computer program that controlled the building it still startled him. Maybe it was because that mess in his mind made him feel vulnerable. Or maybe it was this “repair the arm”-affair that had him on edge. Or both._

_A short time later they were sitting on the floor with different tools strewn all over the couch. His left arm rested on the couch as well, the damaged plates were already off, revealing a snarl of wires. Stark had pulled some of them out while he poked around inside his arm with a tool in each hand. A robot of some kind stood next to the couch and held up a bright flashlight for the engineer. That thing was cool and yet creepy as well. It looked like a long, movable robot arm with a gripper at its end and moved on its own. Sometimes it even seemed as if it were sentient or something. At least Stark treated it as such. It even had a name – Dum-E – and the man was talking to it and chiding it._

_Overall the whole experience was so strange and surreal that he was able to relax a bit, even though someone was tinkering inside his arm. Stark was excited like a child in a candy store. Although he seemingly never stopped talking – there was a constant stream of babbling about every fascinated discovery he made, praising the genius who built the arm just before cursing the idiot who thought it a good idea to connect something in the way it was – the man’s work was quick and efficient. And throughout his questions, his ramblings and his jokes he always made sure – subtly, but not subtly enough that he didn’t notice it – that he was still okay with the procedure._

_This situation was so completely different from Hydra that his tension slowly abated. Enough to join the conversation and ask questions about the strange robot. And the workings of the arm itself. Eager to understand and distract himself even further._

_It didn’t take long for his fingers to move and feel again. Stark started working on removing the dents out of the plates by beating them out one by one until they fit the specifications Jarvis had reconstructed. That work was crude compared to the delicate fiddling inside the refined space of his wrist and yet he seemed equally at home doing it._

_The plates fitted perfectly._

_“Well,” Stark started, rubbing his thumb along the surface of one of the plates and curling his lips, “it’s no permanent solution, too sloppy and the metal is less resilient here. The new sensors have to be integrated into the metal, so then you’ll get new plates anyway. Should be okay until… hm… or maybe I better check…”_

_“Stark!” he interrupted the other man who jerked his head up just in time to see the flinch on his face at speaking that name out loud._

_Blinking away the memory of Howard’s face he saw the smaller man furrow his brow, analyzing, before an easy grin stole its way back onto his lips. “You know what? Call me Tony.”_

_Tony. Yes, that felt way better._

_And he remembered now. He’d heard Steve use that name when he’d listened in on him after their confrontation._

_And- could that man read minds or something?_

_Pushing all that aside for the moment he focused back on the important things. He held his arm up and stroked his fingers across the repaired area. It felt rougher, apart from that there was no difference, neither in touch nor mobility._

_“It’s perfect. Thank you, Tony!”_

Getting his arm repaired by someone who took his wishes into regard, who respected him and didn’t expect him to simply comply had been a new and liberating experience. Tony had even managed that he felt calm and safe enough to go through with the deep scan Tony’d carefully asked him for to get a feeling for how the mechanics were integrated into his body. Lying down with that scanner whirring around him had been hard, but Tony’s nonchalant and absolutely un-pressuring attitude had made it possible.

It had been worth it. After all, that scan had enabled the engineer to study the sensors and come up with the idea for an upgrade.

“Fry the vegetables. Take the big pan, yeah? Oil is over there. And don’t put the garlic in yet. It’ll only burn. Wait until shortly before you add the sieved tomatoes.”

_Well, you complained about cutting. Look what it got you. Well done, Buck, well done._

It wasn’t that he’d never cooked before – hell, he even remembered cooking now – nonetheless it had been quite the while and even then, he wasn’t very good at it. He and Steve had made do. Money had been scarce, food hadn’t been diverse exactly, but they’d made the best of it. But this was cooking with his brother and said brother had worked magic at the stove these last weeks. He didn’t want to embarrass himself and he certainly had no need for ruining Jeff’s meal.

While the vegetable potpourri sizzled in the pan he watched the other two stuffing the lemon-herb-cream cheese-mix into the chicken breasts whenever he wasn’t busy stirring. He couldn’t hold in his amused chuckles as Steve tried to emulate Jeff’s practiced movements. Even though his second try looked much better – and less messy – watching his bulk of a friend fumbling filling with his fingers into a piece of chicken was just too bizarre.

“Think that’s funny!” Steve complained. “Go on! Try better!”

Jeff turned and raised a mock-reproachful eyebrow at him before it gained a life of its own and climbed higher up his brow. “Better watch that veg or say goodbye to the ratatouille.”

_Oops!_

Bucky quickly focused back on the pan and stirred again. The pieces were a bit brown on one side now but he didn’t burn them.

Since he didn’t seem to have a knack for making ratatouille – he almost burned the stuff twice more, although he claimed it on the stove – he let Steve handle it. Jeff took care of the meat and fried it in a second pan from all sides. Meanwhile he preferred to set the table. He was just about to put the plates down when the familiar melody of Jeff’s cell started ringing through the room. The thing was lying on the table so he put the plates away and grabbed it to read the caller’s name.

“It’s Grace.”

Jeff turned, his forehead furrowed in confused surprise. “Really? We talked  two hours ago.”

“Maybe she’s got good news, too?” Steve mused and took over the job of frying the chicken as Jeff stepped around the counter to the table, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

“Possible. It’s about damn time that ice wall comes down. They’ve got the Snow Queen for how long? Two days?”

Bucky gave him the cell phone then got back to setting the plates properly.

“Hey honey! Miss your old man already?”

He just had to smile. Each time he witnessed his brother interact with his daughter it made him smile, only this time it also awoke memories of his adoptive mother and Steve’s mother, who – in a way – had adopted him as well.

“Grace? What’s wrong?”

The change in Jeff’s tone made him look up at once. The worry on his face matched the one in his voice. This wasn’t a call to announce the vanishing of the ice wall, that’s for sure. The longer his brother listened the deeper the creases worked into his forehead.

“Hey, calm down honey, okay? Just talk to me.”

He had a bad feeling about this. Instinctively he stepped closer and became witness as every bit of color suddenly drained from his brother’s face. Jeff’s hand grabbed for the table and he sank onto a chair as his knees gave out. His other hand with the phone trembled precariously.

Thanks to his quick reflexes Bucky reacted at once. He placed one hand on his twin’s shoulder, giving him support, while his other hand closed firmly around the one that was holding the cell. He gently pulled it away from him and pushed the “speaker” button as soon as he could see the display. Whatever was going on, however private it may be, if it could scare the shit out of his brother in less than a second then it was something he needed to know!

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, that was another nasty one, I know. But it's the last of the nasty ones, I promise!
> 
> I really liked writing this chapter. Especially the parts with Bucky and Tony. I wanted Bucky to interact with someone he doesn't share a past with and I wanted Tony to show his intuitive and empathetic side.  
> And having Bucky, Jefferson and Steve mess about in the kitchen was a joy to write :) 
> 
> Too bad my nasty side got the upper hand in the end... 
> 
> So, tomorrow you'll learn what has Jefferson horrified like that:  
> Part Five: Off-Guard - All That Stupid


	19. Part Five: Off-Guard - Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple phone call can change everything...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about yesterday, but hey! You did it! You survived the cliffhanger! :)
> 
> Now, I won't keep you any longer. Read on and learn what Grace could've possibly told Jefferson that terrified him like that.

**Part Five: Off-Guard**

All That Stupid

 

A soft sniff sounded through the kitchen as he placed the phone back on the table, as well as the sound of an engine.

“What?” Jeff’s voice was almost toneless.

This time Bucky _could_ hear what Grace was saying. But he neither liked the desperation in her voice, nor the choice of her words. Not one bit.

“I don’t want to go back. Not without you!”

He had to shake his head a little to get rid of the distant roar of explosions in his mind. Nonetheless his skin still felt like scorched by heat when Steve joined them, his lips pressed into a thin line of worry. Their gazes crossed for a moment, sharing their concern. This wasn’t about prolonging their separation this sounded like “we’ll never see each other again”.

“Don’t be afraid, honey.” Jeff leaned forward, closer to the phone. His hands were trembling yet his voice was firm. Mostly. He gave his best to push his own feelings aside to calm his daughter. “I’m going to find you! I promise! I’ll find a way to cross worlds, whatever it will take, and I _will_ …”

Someone else was talking close by. They could hear it but couldn’t make out the words.

“Who’s that? Where are you, Grace?” Jeff asked, alarmed.

“I’m in the car. The Mayor- she picked me up. Henry’s here, too. Papa… she says this curse isn’t working like that.” There was more hushed talking in the background while Bucky tried to put all the pieces together. Another curse. The first one had kept them separated, the second one had stolen a year of their memories, of their time together. Both had transported their victims to another world. This was bad!

Grace went on after listening to the other voice. “She’s taking us someplace safe.”

Jeff clamped a shaking hand over his mouth for a moment before he ran it through his hair. “Good. That’s good. Stay with Regina! She’s going to look out for you!” He sounded sure and reassuring but his eyes were narrowed in doubt and he was gnawing at his lower lip. 

Even now the mentioning of the name “Regina” sparked off the anger deep inside of Bucky. His niece was with the woman who’d hurt his brother over and over again. He wanted nothing more than to get there right now, grab the girl and bring her to _real_ safety. Being dependent on that woman made his skin crawl.

_How can you stand it to place your faith in her, brother?_

The answer was simple. The doubt on his face spoke volumes. He couldn’t. But he had to. There was no one else.

Again there was talking, then the engine stopped and car doors slammed.

“Where a- the _hospital_? What are we doing here? Is it safe here?”

Bucky didn’t understand the answer, it was too distant and with too many other noises in the way. He stepped around his brother without making a noise and half-sat onto the table, so he was closer to the phone. And he could see his brother’s face properly now. He gave Jeff’s shoulder a short squeeze but never broke contact. A twitch of the corner of his lips and a quick glance was the only answer he got.

“Grace?”

The girl didn’t react. Judging by the fast footsteps, the quickly changing background noises and the panting breaths she was hurrying somewhere and either couldn’t or wouldn’t talk. They could hear her talk to Regina, though.

“Why are we going down? If it’s safe here then why is no one-,“ there was a short pause, then, “What is this place?”

He wasn’t sure how it was possible but Jeff got even paler now. His eyes flicked towards him, towards Steve, the uncertainty and doubt in his gaze doubled all of a sudden. He was looking at them for help. There was clearly something Bucky was missing here. And Jeff turned back to the phone, more agitated than before.

“Where are you, honey?” His voice was imploring. Only shook a little bit. It was amazing how well he could hide his distress.

Something told Bucky that he already knew the answer to that question, though.

Grace’s voice wavered with insecurity when she answered. The girl was afraid. Of course she was.

“In the basement of the hospital. I- I don’t like this, Papa. This room looks like a cell. And it’s cold and dark and- it’s not the only cell. It looks like a prison down here.”

_What the hell?_

Each new word contributed to his increasing confusion and alarm. He never met this girl in person, not even talked to her, but her easy acceptance, her warmth and open mind and most of all the interaction between her and Jeff made her special. And hearing the words “curse”, “Grace”, “Regina” and “prison cell” in regard to one scenario made his protective instinct jump into overdrive.

Jeff pressed his eyes close. His whole face transformed into a tortured grimace and one of his trembling hands clutched at his throat.

“I know, Grace. It’s scary down there. I know. Just- just stay with Henry, okay? Stay-“

She interrupted him, frantic now. “But he’s not here.” Jeff’s breath hitched visibly and Steve’s hand closed around his other shoulder, adding what strength and support he could offer. “She took him to another cell. She’s going to lock us up here, isn’t she? Please, I don’t want to stay here, Papa. I-“ Her sob made him cringe. “I’m scared!”

Bucky wished he could just jump over there and get her out. Anything to stop her from hurting, from being afraid. He couldn’t imagine the anguish his brother must be in right now.

“I know, honey. I know. Me too, Grace. I’m sure Regina knows what she’s doing.” This time you could hear the pain in his voice. “Can you-“

There were a few clicking steps, rustling and Jeff was interrupted all of a sudden.

He’d never heard that voice before, but he guessed it was this woman, Regina. It didn’t surprise him that she sounded harsh somehow. His mind conjured the image of a tall and skinny woman with a long, thin neck and her hair pulled back so tightly that it pulled back her skin.

“Jefferson, listen-“

All composure was gone in an instant. Jeff jumped up, his hands pressed against the surface of the table on either side of the phone. His posture reminded him more of a taut rubber band than anything else and he was afraid of what might happen if he snapped.

“The cells in your secret psych ward? Seriously?” It burst out of him, all of it. The panic, the desperation, making his voice jump to shrill heights every other word until he got his emotions in check again and chose to channel that whole uproar into fury instead. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, REGINA???!!!”

An irritated sigh was the answer. “Stop shouting and start listening! Time’s short. That Snow Queen bitch’s curse will affect everyone in town. It lets you see the worst in the people you love. Every good emotion will turn into nothing but disdain and hate. This town will literally tear itself apart.”

Bucky looked up at Steve. They had to do something. But what?

“I’ll seal these cells with magic. You’re daughter will be safe here. I have to go now.”

“What? NO!!! You can’t just leave her alone! You have to-“

“I don’t have time for this!” The woman hissed back and that mental image he had of her darted its snake-like tongue in and out. “Didn’t you _listen_? I’ve got to lock myself away. NOW! You don’t want me anywhere near your Grace when I turn into my hateful self again!”

“There has to be a way to stop this!” Jeff burst out, his voice warped by desperation.

Her answer was strangely resigned. “That’s up to Emma now.”

There was soft shuffling and then the loud bang of the closing cell door, accompanied by a frightened gasp.

Jeff was staring at the cell phone, completely stunned.

“Papa?” It was tentative, shaky. Terrified.

“It’s alright. It’s- it’s okay, Grace. You heard her. You’re safe there. No one can hurt you in there.”

Bucky was truly amazed by now. It was beyond him how his brother still managed to muster that hopeful, reassuring tone, that seemed to say “hey, there’s nothing to worry about, you’ll see”. It probably didn’t fool her, though.

“I don’t want this. I don’t- oh god, I want to be with you! I- I’m so scared, Papa!”

Steve’s hands balled into fists and he looked away, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles at his temples jumped.

Jeff sucked in a deep breath, his right hand pressed against his lips. The arm that was holding him upright was shaking.

He acted on impulse. He grabbed his brother’s left hand with his right one and closed his fingers tightly around it. His twin looked up at him. His deep blue eyes a dark and desperate sea of helplessness whipped up by the storm of desperation. Bucky held that gaze and squeezed his hand, saying with everything but words “you are not alone in this”.

Then Jeff looked away again, straightening his shoulders and forcing a smile into his voice. “You don’t have to be. Emma’s working on it. And hey, she’s the savior, remember? She’ll break this curse in no time, you’ll see!”

“No, that’s not…” Her voice gave out and she audibly gulped, took in a shaky breath and sniffed. It turned into a sob rather quickly. “I don’t want to hate you! I _love_ you, Papa!”

So that was the real problem. Out of all of these terrifying circumstances _this_ was what scared his niece the most. She was even more grown-up than he’d given her credit for.

Jeff’s jaw trembled and he could see a tear dropping onto the table.

“Oh Grace! I know, honey. I _know_! And I love you, too! No matter what-“

“It’s coming!” she shrieked. “It’s here. I need to go. I can’t- I don’t want you to witness- I can’t do this to you!”

And then the line went dead.

“Grace? GRACE???”

Nothing.

A heavy silence wrapped itself around the room, weighing everything down. Just the faint bubbling and sizzling told of their earlier levity. It seemed a lifetime ago.

His brother leaned over the table, staring at the dark display of the phone. His chest was heaving with heavy breaths, his mouth still open in shock. Tear-tracks glistened on his ashen cheeks.

Bucky was wrecking his brain for something to do, for a way to help. There was no way around it. After listening to _that_ inactivity wasn’t an option. For neither of them. The only question was: what could they _do_? Steve seemed to think along the same lines. He’d crossed his arms in front of his chest with one hand against his chin. His thinking pose.

The sudden bang ripped them both out of their thoughts.

Jeff had smacked his fist against the table, making the plates rattle. He pushed up and pulled his hand out of his grip with one fierce tug. He stepped away from the table and turned around himself, his wide eyes staring at everything and nothing. His mind must be racing right now, jumping from one possible action to the next, intermitted with phrases Grace had used and all of that topped by the torment of replaying every helpless moment of his life. Or something like that.

The way he fisted his hands into his hair and pulled at it strongly supported Bucky’s theory.

He had to do something. Had to get him out of it.

And he had to come up with a plan.

Anything.

They couldn’t just go there. Storybrooke was sealed off.

Calling again would achieve nothing. Except hurt his brother further. And go against Grace’ wishes.

_Brave girl! Choosing to end the call because she didn’t want to hurt her father. Rather facing that curse on her own. Really brave girl!_

He focused back on the problem right in front of him. Slowly he raised his hand to place it on his brother’s arm. “Jeff, stop this. Please! Hurting yourself isn’t going to help her. Just take a deep breath and calm-“

He didn’t get any further. His hand got slapped away forcefully and Jeff jumped a step back out of reach. His wild eyes focused on him, full force, as if by intervening he’d made himself the perfect target. Maybe he had.

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” Jeff screamed. “My daughter’s in danger! She’s locked up in a fucking _cell_! Surrounded by people who’re going to kill each other! So don’t tell me to CALM DOWN! I _AM_ CALM!!!”

_I really doubt that!_

He hadn’t been prepared for such an outburst. He’d never seen his brother like this. True, he barely knew him at all and his daughter’s life was in danger, so he had every right to act like that. Nonetheless, he _needed_ to get through to him somehow.

So he tried for a composed tone and pushed his own doubts aside for a moment. “Okay, okay. Yes, she’s in a cell, but she’s safe there. You said so yourself.”

Well, it wasn’t his best reasoning, especially since he’d witnessed his brother’s misgivings  earlier. And he should’ve known that logic wouldn’t help in an emotionally stressed moment like this. Still, the reaction he got told him that his brother really _was_ a stranger to him. He couldn’t anticipate his reactions and he had no idea how to talk to him. How to reassure him and calm him down.

“Safe? SAFE???” Jeff pressed out a laugh. It sounded ugly and _wrong_. “She’s trapped by magic. With no escape. And REGINA knows where she is. Who’s going to safe Grace from her? She already took my daughter away from me twice. TWICE!” He held up two fingers to underline his statement, before he suddenly kicked the chair out of the way and started pacing.

“No, I need to go there! I need to get her out of there!” He swiveled around and headed off.

Steve was in his way after only three steps. His hands up, palms facing Jeff. He tried it by being reasonable and pointing out the flaws of that plan.

“You can’t. The town’s surrounded by an ice wall and…”

“So? I don’t CARE! You’ve got that jet. That’s it! I’ll take it and fly in. Why didn’t I do this _already_???”

“…and that force field Tony discovered,” Steve went on as if he’d never been interrupted. “There’s no way in. You’d be just as powerless, only standing much closer. Believe me, rushing things now won’t help her. You need to think this through. _We_ need to think this through. We’re a team, remember?”

It seemed as if Steve had gotten through to him. At least a little bit. Still breathing hard Jeff stared up at the blond, then clenched his teeth and turned on the spot to resume his frantic pacing.

Bucky had to look away. It made him twitchy. And he hated that almost as much as feeling helpless. “There’s really no way inside?”

Steve shook his head. “Tony couldn’t find a way in, otherwise he’d taken a look around. And if Tony can’t find one…”

“Tony’s good but there’s something he certainly hasn’t tried yet.”

The blond cocked his head, curious and a tiny bit skeptical. “And that is?”

“Magic.”

“But we don’t _have_ magic!” Jeff called out, underlining his words with desperate gestures.

Steve got that thinking-look again. “We have the totem.”

“The what?” Bucky couldn’t follow.

“That sculpture that Jefferson used to turn us into birds. It would only work on you, though.”

Yeah, he remembered now. They’d told him about that. Nevertheless, he still didn’t follow. Or he was missing something. “How would turning into an animal help us get past the magical force field?”

“I can’t…” Jeff passed him in a few hectic strides, resuming his place by the table. His hair stood up every which way, in some areas the strands were still clumped together where his fingers had grabbed onto them hard. The rage seemed to have left him, leaving him jittery and flustered. “I need to know…”

Before Bucky knew what he was doing his brother had already dialed his cell. His hands were shaking so badly that it slipped through his fingers and crashed onto the table. Instead of taking it up again he simply pressed a finger onto the speaker-button and took a step back as if afraid of his own action.

The ringing filled the silence in the room. After sharing a quick look both he and Steve reached for the phone to turn it off again.

They were stopped mid-action.

Stopped by a familiar young voice and the shocking realization how much disdain could be put into one simple word.

“You.”

Jeff’s breath hitched. His arms shot out to either side, holding them back.

Well, they both could get past him with ease, but he wanted this. Wanted to hear his little girl even if it would hurt him further. And Bucky wasn’t sure what to do. This was too much too fast. He had no idea how do deal with this.

“What the hell do _you_ want? Suddenly remembered that you have a daughter? One that you left behind _again_?”

Bucky winced. He didn’t know if the curse just turned the emotions around into something bad or if it fed on existing feelings, tiny and hidden, that were there once, if only for a flicker of a moment, and puffed them up into _this_. It didn’t matter right now. Not with the conflicting emotions playing across his brother’s face.

“Grace,” Jeff sighed relieved to hear that she really wasn’t transported to another world. He couldn’t hide that her words had struck a nerve, though. “Are you okay, honey?”

She snorted. “As if you cared.“

“Of course I do.”

Steve placed his arm on Jeff’s shoulder and pulled him back slightly, forcing him to look back at the blond who shook his head. Mouthing “don’t” with pleading eyes didn’t help either. Jeff shrugged him off and turned back.

“Of course I care. I always do. I lo…”

“Oh just stop it, yeah? This whole ‘perfect father‘-act doesn’t suit you. It’s nothing but a lie. That’s all you ever do. Lie. You promised you’d be back for tea but you left me. What father does that to his child?”

“Grace, I’m-“

“You’re the _worst. Father. Ever_! I wish you would’ve never come back. So do me a favor and _stay away_ this time! I don’t need you!”

Her voice rang through the kitchen. She wasn’t screaming, her voice barely raised at all, but cold and calculating. And she was punctuating every word to make the most impact possible.

“Grace, I know-“

“Oh, just SHUT UP! I’m so sick of your whining and your lies and your false apologies! Just leave me alone! LEAVE ME! THE FUCK! ALONE!“

There was a grunt then a loud noise and the connection broke up.

“What…” Jeff mumbled, grabbed the phone with fumbling fingers and redialed.

This time Bucky grabbed his hand and pulled it back gently. The call couldn’t connect. He hadn’t thought it would. It had sounded as if she’d smashed the device against the floor.

This time the following silence was even heavier.

Jeff sank down onto the nearest chair. Limp like a puppet with cut strings. There was nothing left of the agitated man from moments ago. No more outbursts, no more nervous pacing. He simply sat there and stared straight ahead.

_I should’ve stopped him before he’d been able to make that call. Dammit, I should’ve ended the call immediately._

It hurt him to see his brother like this. To only have a vague feeling how much Grace’s words must have hurt him.

Steve bit his lips. There was something in the way he grimaced in sympathy that made Bucky believe that his friend had seen his brother in a condition like this before. The blond pulled another chair close and sat down, getting down on eye level with Jeff. He also placed his hand on the other’s thigh to get his attention.

“She didn’t mean that. Don’t take her words to heart, okay? That was only the curse talking. Grace loves you.”

His brother took a deep breath and rubbed his hands across his face with a long-suffering sigh. “I know that. And that’s exactly why I have to get to her.”

He didn’t understand. Not exactly. “We can’t get inside Storybrooke.”

“I know that, too, Bucky. But maybe we don’t have to. Emma is going to break that curse. I know she will. I have faith in her. She will defeat the Snow Queen and if she does, her magic might just vanish as well. Then this Elsa can bring down the wall and- and when that happens, I want to be there. I _need_ to be there! She will feel terrible after everything she said and I _need to know_ that she’s okay.”

There were a lot of “ifs” in that sentence.

But it was _something_. And anything was better than sitting around feeling helpless. He squeezed his brother’s shoulders from behind, which made him tilt his head back until he could look up at him. “Alright. Let’s get that jet you’ve been talking about.”

Steve sat up straight, a determined expression on his face. “Storybrooke it is, then.”

And that tiny twitch on Jeff’s upturned face turned into a tentative, grateful smile.

 

 

 

“Mr. Stark currently doesn’t wish to be disturbed. Except in the case of an emergency,” Jarvis informed him.

“That depends. Can we access the hangar bay and take the quinjet without his permission?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers. All access restrictions have been rescinded. The jet itself is Avengers property and therefore to your free disposal.”

Steve’s eyebrow shot up for a second.

 _Good to know_.

He took the next flight of stairs, two steps at a time. “Then don’t disturb him. He’s probably with Pepper and there’s nothing he can do anyway. But Jarvis, please inform him later that we took the jet up north. A- family emergency.”

Sprinting up another two levels he finally reached the hangar. Jefferson was a couple of steps behind him, breathing heavily and with his legs buckling every few steps. Nevertheless he pulled himself along with one hand on the railing, never stopping for a second. For someone who wasn’t enhanced it was an amazing feat to keep up with him. Distant footfalls announced Bucky’s imminent arrival. While Jefferson had simply grabbed his cell and headed off, Bucky had urged him along to run after him and get the jet ready. He’d said he’d take care of everything down there and get everything they needed.

He only hoped Bucky had remembered to shut the stove off.

_All that food… it’s a shame._

The door in front of him opened automatically and he rushed into the big open space of the hangar, the giant form of the quinjet to his left.

_Strange how it looks so much bigger and more imposing from the outside._

“Jarvis, open the hangar bay! And the hatch!”

The back of the jet opened up just as the wall to his right did the same and retracted into hidden compartments in floor and ceiling. The last rays of dim sunlight got reflected by the windows of a nearby skyscraper and found their way through the opening where they painted the interior in a reddish glow.

Few weeks ago he’d landed here with Jefferson and Bucky, fearing for a life. Now he was leaving with Jefferson and Bucky, fearing for yet another one’s. Sometimes he hated how things had the tendency of repeating themselves.

He jogged into the jet, indicating Jefferson to follow him – a completely unnecessary gesture. In front of the control panel he stopped, his gaze flicking across the multitude of buttons and screens.

_Shit!_

Piloting wasn’t his strong suit. If there was no other option he could get by, more or less, he had managed to fly the _Valkyrie_ after all. Although piloting an aircraft for a few minutes and then crashing it might not really be a good example. He’d never flown the quinjet before, leaving it to either Tony or Clint, and he wasn’t sure about operating this new tech. Maybe they should rethink-

He looked up and caught a glance at Jefferson whose face was glistening with sweat after that impromptu stair run. And yet, in complete disregard of his heavy panting, he was pacing the interior of the jet impatiently. Nervously.

_What the hell! You can do this!_

_You have to!_

Identifying the switch that would activate the systems wasn’t hard. He pressed it and studied the data that was popping up on the screens now. There was something missing though.

_Where’s Bucky?_

He ran back to the ramp and leaned outside. His friend had stopped midstride through the hangar, his gaze fixed on something outside of the open hangar bay. Without doubt he was scrutinizing the surroundings, scanning for possible snipers and stuff. Old habits died hard. Especially if they’d already been there even before Hydra. No matter how unlikely an attack at Stark Tower was.

“You coming?” he shouted against the soft drone of the awakening engines.

“Yeah.”

Bucky turned and joined them, a frown on his face. He threw what looked like Jefferson’s backpack into a corner and pushed his shield into his hands with the comment, “Thought you might want it with you.” Then he passed him and sat down on the pilot’s seat. As if that went without saying.

_Maybe it does?_

“You know how to-“

At that moment lights flashed on at the console and on the screens and the hatch closed while the jet started turning towards the hangar bay.

 _Okay, I never said anything_.

And he felt much better now. At least now they had a pilot who actually _knew_ what he was doing. Steve told Jefferson to sit down for the start and continued to watch his friend operate the controls as if he’d never done anything else.

They exited the tower with ease and took a swerve around the closest skyscraper. Bucky grunted in displeasure.

“There’s someone on that building, observing the tower.”

_Seriously?_

“You sure?”

The dark-haired nodded.

“Okay,” he said after thinking for a moment, “doesn’t matter right now. We’ll inform Tony that his home is being watched. Head south, just in case they’re curious about us. As soon as we’re out of range, head north-east.”

Another nod, a few quick movements across the controls and the jet was leaning into a curve. “You know, at one point I’m going to need something more substantial than ‘north-ea-‘”

“Sgt. Barnes,” Jarvis interrupted them.

Bucky jerked. “Holy cow!“ he exclaimed. “It’s in the jet _as well_?”

Steve had to suppress a grin.

The British voice went on. “I was under the impression you were aware of that since Mr. Stark’s sticker next to the pilot’s consol clearly states it. I’m sorry if I startled you. However, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me an ‘it’.”

Bucky shook his head at the miffed tone of the A.I.. There might have been a tad of embarrassment in the way he lowered his gaze, though.

“I merely wanted to inform you that I detect an anomaly at the jet. A low level frequency emission originated at the lower left quadrant of the tail.”

Their gazes met, alarmed and determined alike. “I take it it’s none of Tony’s upgrades. Can you jam the signal?”

“To accomplish a working jamming field complete enclosure of the device is necessary,” Jarvis explained.

He didn’t like where this was going. “So we have to get it inside.” It wasn’t a question. Not really. And what the hell was that thing anyway. His first guess would be a tracker, but how would a tracker get onto the hull of-

_Damn!_

“What’s going on?” Jefferson had left his seat and joined them now, his fingers drumming anxious rhythms against the backrest of Bucky’s seat.

Given the recent events the other man seemed surprisingly composed by his standards. No self-deprecation, no all-devouring desperation, but most of all: no doubt. Yes, he was worried about his daughter – of course he was and he wasn’t the only one either – and he was sure that cursed-Grace’s words had hurt him but he hadn’t let them get to him. The man he’d taken on a foolhardy search and rescue mission a while back would have. He would’ve believed them true and blamed himself for failing as a father.

Somewhere along the line Jefferson had changed; gained confidence.

“A minor complication. I need you to sit back down and _buckle up_. It’s going to get a little windy in here.”

Bucky turned around, his mouth pulled into a disapproving line. “Don’t do anything stupid, Steve! I’ll slow down as much as I can.”

As soon as he was sure that both twins were strapped in he opened the hatch again. Wind immediately ripped at his hair and clothes but it got better as the jet decelerated a bit. With Jarvis directions he quickly found the troublemaker by leaning over the side of the hatch. It was securely attached to the hull maybe four feet away from him. Even lying down, stretching as far outside as he dared, he couldn’t reach it.

_There’s only one way apart from going down. And landing is no option with someone possibly tracking our movements._

“Buck? Roll the jet. I need to get outside to reach it.“

“WHAT? Are you crazy?”

Well, that was akin to the expected reaction although from the wrong twin.

Bucky’s deep growl was in stark contrast to his brother’s almost high-pitched exclamation. “And he said I took all the stupid with me. Punk! Better hold on to something! I don’t want to watch you fall _again_.“

The grin came quick and natural.

At least until the jet tilted and he had to concentrate on climbing around the moving ramp onto the underside of the jet. A low and drawled out grunt of “fuuuuuck” followed him outside. He balanced along the hull, made short work of removing the device – meaning he simply ripped it off with brute force – and headed back. Shouting down he gave the sign for his friend to slowly turn upright again so he could climb back inside.

He was greeted by Jefferson’s gasps and his adrenaline fuelled grin that almost split his face. Still flustered he ran his hands through his already tousled hair. “That was… We must do that again some time!”

Bucky shook his head and huffed a laugh before he turned towards him. “You got it?”

“Yeah.” Steve held it up.

The other’s face fell the moment he set eyes on the device. It turned into an unreadable mask.

“That’s one of Hydra’s.”

With the mentioning of that name all mirth was gone. As if sucked out of the air, leaving nothing but a hollow emptiness instead.

Steve’s free hand balled into a fist. “That man on the building.” He didn’t need Bucky’s affirming nod to know. He’d suspected it even before he’d climbed outside. He clenched his teeth.

_They’ve been watching us all along. No, not us. Bucky! They’d somehow tracked him to the tower, still wanting their asset back._

_I won’t let them! Never again!_

“Hydra’s tracking us?“ Jefferson burst out in disbelief. And a bit of fear. “Then what are you waiting for? Destroy that thing!”

“NO!” They both turned at Bucky’s shout. His hands searched around the buttons and screens, increasingly frustrated. “Jarvis, does this thing have an autopilot?”

“Of course, Sgt. Barnes. Me. Mr. Stark has left the coordinates of Storybrooke within my system. I gather that’s your planned destination. Do you want me to plot a course?”

“Not right away. Head for- just bring as out of town. West-northwest.” His friend let the controls go and turned the movable pilot seat around to face them. “If we destroy the tracker they know that we know about it. They’ll deploy even more agents and technical gadgets to track this jet down. But if we take a detour and place it somewhere else it might mislead them.”

 

 

 

A barely perceptible jerk ran through the quinjet as it connected with the ground. Steve pursed his lips in respect. That landing was in no way inferior to Clint’s or Tony’s. They gathered in front of the hatch as it opened up. A movement at the corner of his eye was the only warning he got. The moment the ramp moved Jefferson started running, eager to get outside.

His arm shot out immediately. And it wasn’t the only one.

Stopped abruptly from both sides the former portal jumper grunted in surprise. Then irritation. But Bucky shook his head and shut his brother up with a no-nonsense glare.

“Let me check first!”

Together they quickly checked their surroundings while leaving the jet. In Steve’s case it was more out of habit, Bucky however seemed uneasy ever since they got prove that Hydra was still hot on his tail.

He’d barely made three steps when he noticed that Jefferson wasn’t in the mood to get ordered around and followed them in a few feet distance. At least he was staying behind them.

His friend had brought them down on a small clearing in the middle of the forest, barely bigger than the jet, but not too far away from a street. This way they were much more inconspicuous. And according to the instruments – the view on the night-vision camera had been quite interesting – the area that was cut off from them should be almost directly next to them.

By now it was almost completely dark. The light from the inside of the jet cut sharply into the eerie darkness around them while their long shadows danced across the field of light in a distracting manner.

Bucky stepped onto the mossy grass, scrutinizing the whole area with a skepticism that made Steve’s chest ache. He stepped up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the small wince.

“They don’t know we’re here.”

“I know.”

Maybe he did – although it didn’t really sound like it – but _knowing_ something and _apprehending_ something were two very different animals. Nevertheless, Hydra would be busy for a while chasing their tracker all the way up to Toronto. He would’ve felt better if there’d been a possibility to attach the tracker to another moving object to lead Hydra astray for even longer, but without some flying gadget from Tony’s collection or involving civilians it hadn’t been an option.

“The ice! It’s gone! The wall’s down!“

The moment he heard the excitement in the surprised outburst behind him he knew he was too late. He tried anyway. Turning with lightning-speed he started forward, trying to get to the frantic father who only saw that the way to get to his daughter’s aid was clear.

Jefferson was faster this time. He’d jumped from the hatch and was already running in the direction of the town.

“Jefferson! STOP!” he shouted, still trying to catch the other man in time. “The FORCE F-“

It was too late.

Purple light flashed up as Jefferson connected with an invisible barrier – now highlighted by an amazing lightshow – that knocked the breath out of him, judging by his gasp. A second later the light was gone again. Apart from the dull thud of human limbs crashing against a hard surface there was no sound at all. No humming. No whirring. Nothing that suggested a barrier at all.

Then the man was in the air. A tumbling, flailing mass of blue and green clothed limbs, propelled in the opposite direction as if rebound by a gigantic rubber band.

Steve couldn’t react in time. His hands only closed around thin air as his friend hurtled past him. His eyes followed the movement, helpless, when they spotted Bucky swirling around and opening his arms to catch his brother. Jefferson crashed against him with enough momentum to sweep even the enhanced soldier off his feet. Together they slid on Bucky’s back across the clearing until they finally came to a stop somewhere between the trees.

He was next to them in an instant. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grunted and carefully loosened his protective embrace.

The only answer they got from the limp figure on his chest was a deep groan, muffled by the arm that covered the face. As he touched the man’s shoulder he reacted by lowering his arm, revealing a squinting face and a bleeding nose. Blinking dizzily Jefferson tried to get up. His limbs were unsteady though and he held his head, groaning again. Blood was dripping from his upper lip and he wiped at it with one hand, the movement so dazed and uncoordinated that he hit his nose instead. He winced and groaned and grimaced, all at once. And he swayed, threatening to topple over. Steve helped him up into a sitting position, not trusting him to stand right now. Just in case he kept a steadying hand on his arm.

“What the hell were you _thinking_?” he snapped. He regretted his harsh tone the moment it’d come out, but he couldn’t help it. Adrenaline at this shock was still running through his veins. This had been so foolish and utterly unnecessary.

Jefferson flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, swaying again, one hand still holding his head. “I wasn’t,” he ground out, raising his other hand to gingerly dab his nose – this time more carefully. “I’ve forgotten about the force field.”

“I get that you want to get to Grace, but _that_ was damn stupid,” Bucky stated. “Anything broken?”

“Don’t think so.”

Steve sighed, relieved that for once nothing worse had happened. “It seems the stupid runs in the family. Come on, I think somewhere in the jet is an icepack. For now we’re stuck here anyway.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was about time to blend OUAT's season 4A in to the mix.  
> I only adjusted the storyline a tiny bit to get Grace into the picture as well.
> 
> Next chapter tomorrow:  
> Part Five: Off-Guard - Priorities


	20. Part Five: Off-Guard - Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long night with nothing to do but wait and worry. But, surprisingly enough, the morning gets even worse...

**Part Five: Off-Guard**

Priorities

 

He hadn’t realized how true those words should be. But hours passed and there was nothing they could do. Just wait. This plan had been unsatisfactory from the beginning, leaving them at the mercy of an unknown player without whose help they couldn’t do anything. But it had been a long shot anyway. At least they were here now and not miles away. It felt better somehow, although, on the other hand, it made the feeling of helplessness only worse.

After they’d searched for the first aid kit Jefferson had sat down on the edge of the lowered hatch, cleaning the blood away and holding an icepack to his nose. Or to his head, he’d been switching every now and then.

It hadn’t taken long for Steve’s stomach to make its protest at the missed meal known. Thankfully Bucky’d had the presence of mind to throw some food into the backpack before he’d followed them up to the jet. Well, he’d simply grabbed _something_ , but dry toast and a bunch of apples – to accompany the standard protein bars (for emergencies) from the quinjet – were better than nothing but protein bars alone. He’d survived on worse than those bars during the war but if he could avoid reawakening memories of food rationing and days entrenched in some abandoned village in the Alps with nothing but D-rations he certainly would.

Although it hadn’t come as a surprise he’d still been discontented to see that Jefferson had reverted to his old “I’m not hungry”-routine.

As time had gone on their conversation – meager to begin with – had come to a complete stop. And the situation had barely changed in the last hours.

Jefferson was pacing along the line of the barrier, careful to keep a safe distance. His feet had already run a line into the grass. One of Banner’s emergency blankets was thrown over his shoulders against the cold of the night, its dark color making him almost invisible when he reached the area next to the jet where the light didn’t reach. But whenever he stepped back into it Steve could see the swollen nose and left eye that started to bruise already.

The other man had tried to call Emma a few times now. Without success so far.

So now he was fidgeting. Drumming his fingers against his chin or his thighs, checking the time on his watch every few minutes and stared into the darkness towards the town from time to time. He was nervous and impatient and he got increasingly testy but his demeanor lacked the utter desperation that had made him rant and nearly break down in their motel after four fruitless days of search for Bucky. Steve only wondered when that change had happened without him really noticing.

His gaze wandered a bit until it settled on his best friend.

Although right now that wasn’t Bucky but the Winter Soldier, standing there all in black, close to the jet at a point where he could overlook the whole clearing. Bucky had always been in motion, his buoyant attitude always showing in his posture. Right now he just stood there, stiff and stock still, like a predator: dangerous and in the background, ready to jump its prey the moment it made a mistake. The light from the jet was only partially illuminating him from behind, highlighting his long hair that fell into his face. His metal hand was reflecting the light, drawing one’s gaze towards its cold and imposing fist.

And he was glaring at the surrounding forest as if daring it to be stupid enough to attack. He might be unarmed, wearing jeans and a henley instead of his tack gear, but he looked every bit as lethal as on that day on the helicarrier.

Unlike on the helicarrier, though, he also saw a glimpse of Bucky when he looked closely. He was there, in the way his right hand twitched every now and then. The only outward sign that he was not just on high alert but also on edge. Every few minutes his eyes flicked to him and his brother, making sure they were okay. Or save. Or still there. Steve wasn’t sure exactly. When their eyes met he got a short glimpse at his friend’s troubled mind. It was enough to reassure him that Bucky was still there, behind the mask of the assassin.

For the last hours now he’d watched as Bucky had become quieter and more and more wary. He jumped at every noise, be it a bird rustling the foliage or a plane flying by in the distance, seeing Hydra everywhere around. What had bordered on paranoia a while ago had long crossed it now.

Steve wished he could ease his friend’s mind, take away his dread, but there was nothing he could say that would make Bucky believe. Sure, Hydra knew by now that they’d been fooled. They were hundreds of miles away, though. And Hydra had nothing to go on with to find out where they went.

He heaved a sigh and stretched his stiff muscles as he got up from the log he’d been sitting on. While moving over to the backpack to get some water he turned his eyes towards the town. Well, in the direction of the town – he couldn’t see anything but dark forest. It was hard to imagine that not a mile away a whole town was probably at each other’s throats right now. Forced to hate one another by some magic from a crazy megalomaniac.

_It’s like Barton. And Loki._

He hated being helpless in the face of an injustice like that. These people had done nothing to deserve this.

But his hands were bound. There was nothing he could do, no way to get around the barrier. They’d even tried digging underneath it. Of course it reached deep down into the earth, truly shutting them out for good.

The inhabitants of the town that he’d met popped up in his mind, trapped now in a brutal curse. The waitress from the diner. And the friendly guy from the biker shop. The couple that had taken Grace in. They were all there, just a short distance away, probably fighting each other. Probably killing each other. And Grace was right in the middle. Locked up in a psych ward. Hopefully safe. But was she?

And all their hopes lay on that blond woman from the docks. He’d only seen her for a few minutes at most. She’d been worried at Jefferson’s flustered appearance.

“How long did it take Emma to break the first curse?” he asked after sipping some water from the jet. His voice sounded awfully loud in the silence of the night.

Jefferson jerked around, startled. “Um,” he stammered, needing a moment to gather himself after being ripped out of his thoughts so rudely. “Well, um, a few months?”

Steve choked on another sip, coughing harshly. “Months?”

_We can’t wait here for_ months _!_

_Dammit, those people inside can’t wait that long!_

The other man seemed to guess his thoughts and hurried on. “No! I mean, yes, it took her a few months, but- Look. I trust in her. She _will_ break this curse and it won’t take months. That first time she- she needed to _believe_ first. It didn’t take too long afterwards. Anyway, this curse is different. And so will be the means to break it.” He huddled closer into his blanket and fixed his gaze with a somber expression. “I trust her.”

Steve nodded. That would have to do. For the moment at least.

They couldn’t wait here forever. But for now he’d relent for Jefferson’s sake, hoping that he was right.

His gaze settled on Bucky again and shuddered. That Winter Soldier pose shook him more than he was willing to admit. Soon he’d have to insist on leaving, for Bucky’s sake. Before he snapped with tension.

It was at dawn, just when the darkness around them yielded to the daylight and lines of pink and red turned the sky into a beautiful painting, as the shrill ringing of a cell phone made them all startle.

It was Jefferson’s.

He fumbled it out with trembling fingers. “Regina?” he wheezed and Steve realized that he was holding his breath.

The speaker wasn’t on this time, yet Jefferson’s reaction spoke for itself. “ _Grace_! Oh God, Grace. Are you okay?“

When the other man sagged – almost staggered – in relief, then, and only then, did he feel the tension leaving him. And only then did he realize how heavy it had weighed on him.

He smiled at Bucky, relieved and happy that the curse was obviously broken and the girl was alright.

When the phone rang again two hours later he knew he’d cheered too soon. They all had.

The Snow Queen was dead, the ice wall was down, yet her barrier remained, unbreakable, not even by magic.

 

 

 

“What is taking them so long?” he mumbled under his breath.

Impatiently, Jefferson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He reached inside his pocket for the umpteenth time to check his cell. There was no missed call. Of course not. There was no chance at all that he’d miss his phone ringing right now.

Not with the way it sent chills down his spine and his blood pressure into overdrive each time it rang. In good ways as well as in bad ways. Answering his phone to hear the frightened sobs and hiccups of his Grace wasn’t something he was keen on repeating. Ever. Answering his phone, however, to his daughter’s tearful apology had nearly made him cry himself.

Of course that feeling hadn’t lasted forever. To be precise, his joy and relief had been dampened the moment he realized that the force field was still intact – he’d checked by throwing a twig at it. The curse was broken and still something was standing between him and his daughter. And yet again there was nothing he could do.

It hadn’t been very reassuring that Regina hadn’t known about it when he’d told her. And she hadn’t been overly thrilled either. Her “damn ice witch” had been rather caustic. He still preferred that first call over the second one two hours later, though.

_“Jefferson? The wall is down. The barrier isn’t. There’s nothing we can do about it. Not right now. This magic is highly complex, I- I need time to figure this out. I’m sorry.”_

_“No! No, that’s not an option. Not! An! Option!”_

_“It’s possible that we can send Grace over to your side. There’s no being thrown backwards on this side. Maybe-“_

_“You are not experimenting with my daughter! Understand?” Complex magic that she needed time to understand and she wanted to send his Grace through without knowing what that would do to her? She could be just fine, yes, but she could also lose her memory again. Or drop dead. No, he wouldn’t risk that. Never!_

_There was a commotion on the other end of the phone. Some people talking at the same time, then, “Emma had an idea. Be at the townline on the western road in half an hour. But Jefferson, be prepared that this might not work.”_

He checked his watch again. They were late.

_How can they be late? This is fucking important!_

Of course he knew why they were late. Because that thing they wanted to try wasn’t working. And they didn’t want to tell him.

_I’m not leaving. Not again!_

He couldn’t go back to New York. He didn’t want to. He wanted to go home. With Grace and Bucky. And he certainly didn’t want to think about how Bucky might prefer staying with Steve.

“Come on! Work, just work, please!” he groaned and begged while bobbing up and down. He’d waited the whole night and through half of the morning, he was at the end of his ropes. The uncertainty was twisting his guts and the apprehension made his muscles twitch. Damn, he felt nauseous as hell.

“It will work, you’ll see.”

He snorted at Steve’s try to cheer him up. Always so annoyingly optimistic. “And what if it won’t? If they can’t bring it down?”

“Then we’ll find another way, Jeff. Together.”

_Great, another one. I don’t know if I can stomach_ two _annoying optimists._

But Bucky’d said “together”. And he liked the sound of that. A lot.

It distracted him all of five seconds before his nerves got the upper hand again. He broke off a small branch at the side of the road and got back to his companions only to turn his back on them again. Carefully – he had no intention to get knocked in the face by that thing again, his nose was still throbbing and judging from the tenderness of the whole left side of his face he sported the mother of bruises – he tapped the other end of the branch forward to find the exact location of the barrier to test if it’s still there. Well, of course it was. And no matter how careful he was the twig snapped back against his leg, pushed away by the repelling force of magic.  

He was aware of someone moving behind him. It was strangely quiet all of a sudden, but he couldn’t care less. Everything felt off until he could hold his girl again and finally be reassured that she was truly okay.

Angry and – if he was honest with himself – frightened by the possible meanings behind this delay he threw the stick to the ground and stomped onto it.

Suddenly a hand landed on his arm and pushed him to the side.

“ _What is_ …?” he flared and turned violently. He really wasn’t in the mood for childish games right now.

He saw them the same moment Bucky said, “Stay behind me!”

A group of seven soldiers, clad in black tac-gear, their weapons trained on the three of them. He’d seen these kinds of uniforms before. And he’d seen that ugly tentacle-emblem before as well.

_Hydra!_

The leader of the group as well as four others stood on the street just like them; the other two flanked them on either side of the road, standing between the trees behind the curb.

_How the hell did they find us?_

_And how the hell did they get this close without us noticing?_

His heart started pumping adrenalin in every last corner of his body. He knew what they were capable of. Had seen what they could do. Memories of Hydra agents attacking Steve, of a squeezing arm against his throat were all too clear in his mind.

Only this time Bucky was with them.

_Oh my god. It’s Bucky. Of course! They want him back. No. NO!_

“We don’t want a fight…” Steve began, trying to reason with them.

The leader laughed harshly. “Yeah, sure. Spare me the platitudes, Captain. We know what you did to Rumlow.”

Jefferson flinched at the name while Bucky stretched his left arm backwards to make sure that he was right behind him. His brother never looked back. Instead he raised his right hand a bit and kept his eyes on the enemy. There was a weapon in his hand.

_Where did he get a… is that mine?_

It was.

“You almost tricked us with Toronto. Too bad for you that half of Hydra is looking for you. You’ve got something of ours, Captain. My superiors want it back. Badly.” The leader’s dark gaze swept across them only to land on Bucky with a malicious smirk. “I personally don’t think one asset is worth that much trouble.”

Bucky squared his shoulders – Jefferson could see the muscles flex underneath his shirt – and bent his arms into a position ready to fight. “I’ll never go back!” he growled.

The guy laughed. And his soldiers joined in soon after.

Jefferson’s eyes jumped from one to the next, trying to make sense of this. They were ordinary men, okay, trained soldiers, but _normal_ human beings, right? Facing Steve and his brother. Didn’t they know who they were? What they could do in a fight? No, of course they knew. Then why were they laughing? Except- they had an ace up their sleeves. He clenched his teeth, the tension all around thrumming in the air, making him nervous and jumpy.

And frightened.

Again their leader smirked, his lips pulled back into a nasty grimace. “That’s not your choice to make. Sputnik.”

_Huh?_

Jefferson had barely time to wonder what the hell that was all about when his brother’s legs suddenly buckled and he crumpled to the ground right in front of him. It happened so unexpected and fast he couldn’t react at all, just stare and watch as he fell and stayed down, unmoving. His heart stopped, constricted by the heavy weight that suddenly crushed his chest.

“BUCKY!” he screamed, joined by another voice as well.

_What the hell happened?_

_What did they do?_

_WHAT DID THEY DO?_

“Get him!”

He didn’t think, just acted on pure instinct. Before he really knew what he was doing he stood in front of his brother’s hopefully unconscious form – _he’s not dead, they want him back, he can’t be dead_ – his hands balled into fists, facing down the advancing Hydra agents.

“Over my dead body!” he spat, his voice vibrating with anger.

_You’re not touching him again!_

_Not ever!_

The leader shrugged. “That can be arranged.”

The soldier raised his arm and Jefferson was staring down a barrel. And all of a sudden he realized his precarious situation. Facing down trained agents with weapons, unarmed, was a stupid idea. He swallowed, frozen to the spot.

This was it. This was how he would die. Protecting his brother.

_Could’ve been worse._

His eyes were glued to the gun in front of him, waiting for the inevitable. Time seemed to stretch farther and farther just to taunt him, to make him suffer his frantic heartbeat a moment longer and then everything happened at once.

A shot fell just as a dull blow sounded. A red and blue shadow whirled past.

He jerked, startled. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t dead, not even hit. That the guy in front of him was cradling his arm to his chest with a grimace and bellowing orders while the others started shooting at something to his right.

_Steve!_

The super-soldier jumped up and spun around himself, evading the bullets with the grace of a ballet dancer. Mid-flight the shield whirled back into his hand – _it has to be magic_ – warding off some of the projectiles before he finally touched the ground again and-

Ffft!

His head shot around in an instant and he let himself drop to his knees.

_Damn that was close!_

The soldier on his left hadn’t joined the others in fighting off Captain America. Instead he’d opted for the easier target and regaining Hydra’s invaluable asset.

He was lucky the shot had missed him. If only by an inch or so. Feeling the air move against your cheek from a bullet whooshing by did wonders for one’s adrenalin production.

The guy was still coming closer, aiming again. This time he wouldn’t miss.

Jefferson slid to the side in a hasty, crawling movement, just to get away and out of his line of fire – and closer to his brother, right when the next shot whizzed past him.

That’s when he saw it. His gun.

_Blood everywhere. Dripping. Soaking. Bubbling out of his mouth._

_And his eyes, dark between all that scarred skin, alight with respect._

It lay right next to Bucky’s lifeless fingers. He didn’t move. At all.

Just lay there. Limp. His eyes closed.

_Bucky? Please be okay! Just- whatever they did to you, please! Be okay!_

Without hesitation he grabbed the gun.

_You don’t abandon family!_

He needed to protect his brother at all cost. He hadn’t gone through all this pain and trouble and desperation to lose him again now. Not to _them_ anyway.

No, he couldn’t imagine a life without his brother again.

His fingers weren’t shaking as he raised his arm towards his attacker, aimed and pulled the trigger.

The soldier jerked, his right leg gave way and he crashed against the tarmac. Not what he’d been aiming for, but well…

Trusting in his adrenaline heightened reflexes he jumped up at once, crossed the distance between them in three quick strides and kicked the weapon out of the other guy’s hands before he had the chance to get his bearings back. The man grabbed for something at his belt with his other hand. A quick flash of reflecting light exposed the object as a knife. He stomped on the soldier’s wrist, hard enough to make him gasp in pain, then lent down and smacked the butt of his gun against his temple. The guy went limp, only the small puddle of blood next to his thigh still moving.

There was no time to linger.

Turning back he saw Steve fighting four Hydra agents at once – two were already lying on the ground, unmoving.

_Bucky! I need to get him out of here!_

Ducking low he hurried back towards his brother, berating himself for leaving him unguarded in the first place. But where to? Where could he take Bucky to make sure he’d be safe?

_The trees. Better than nothing. At least there’s cover._

He grabbed his brother’s arm, about to pull him back towards the closest side of the road. He’d forgotten about his weight, though. How was he supposed to move him anywhere like that?

“GET DOWN!”

And he did.

He wasn’t thinking at all, barely registering the fact that it was Steve who’d shouted. Without knowing what was going on he let himself fall down, merely raising one arm to cover his head. The cracking sounds of gunshots filled the air the same moment. Something hit his arm, burning through his flesh and he screamed in pain.

With a dull thud he hit the ground, his left arm numb and on fire at the same time. He felt Bucky halfway underneath him. Frantically he scooted closer, pushed himself sideways until he completely covered the helpless, immobile form of his brother. More shots rang above him, making him wince every time anew.

Jefferson clung onto his brother, pressed himself hard against his back and his face into the crook between his shoulder and his neck. Ignoring the pain he pulled his left arm up to cover their heads and his right to cover their faces as best he could. The gun wasn’t in his hand anymore. Maybe he’d put it away to pull Bucky aside, maybe he’d lost it. He wasn’t sure.

His eyes were closed firmly. There was nothing he could do anymore.

Gunshots whizzed past him. He heard them. Felt them. Too close for his liking. Ripping at his clothes. Biting into his flesh once. He jerked at the pain, grunted into Bucky’s neck but didn’t let go. If anything he wrapped himself closer around his brother, shielding him with the only thing he had. Himself.

The shooting abated. The times in between shots grew longer. Metallic clangs filled the air together with harsh panting and the occasional bellow of an order.

Jefferson couldn’t concentrate on the words. He knew he should but the only thing that his mind could comprehend at the moment were the regular movements of his brother’s chest beneath him. He was breathing.

_He’s alive._

_Oh thank God, he’s alive!_

Only now that he had this prove, felt it every few seconds, only now that the relief hit him like a sledgehammer did he realize how damn scared he’d been of finding him dead. Even though he knew that Hydra wanted him back, seeing his brother crumple to the floor like a puppet with cut strings for no reason at all had scared the shit out of him.

He felt it first. The unmistakable bad feeling that sent chills down his spine and made the fine hairs at his neck stand on end.

Someone was watching him. Someone close.

Fighting for regular, even breaths – not really successfully – he forced his eyes open.

To see the fabric of his shirt. Slowly he lowered his right arm a bit, careful to only expose himself, not Bucky. The pavement right in front of him came into view. As did a pair of combat boots.

His breath hitched.

At the same moment something cold and hard pressed uncomfortably against his temple. He knew that feeling all too well. It pulled him right back into another forest to another attack.

And his mind went blank.

_This is it, Jefferson. This. Is. It._

_You’re going to die._

From one moment to the next everything changed. He couldn’t really explain it, just that his whole world tumbled out of balance and when it shifted back, it was different. His focus was different.

The pulsing pain from his left arm was still there, but it wasn’t important anymore, just like the burning at the side of his back. It didn’t register as pain anymore. The noise of the fighting in the background grew distant, irrelevant, just like the barrel of the gun at his head.

Instead he grew more aware of the warm and breathing body beneath him, of the harsh stubble on his brother’s face that now rasped against his temple. The smell of Bucky filled his nose, of faint body wash and warmth and fresh apple from his improvised breakfast and just simply Bucky. It smelled like home. And he felt the soft texture of those long strands of hair that spilled over his hand between his fingers, caressing his skin. He closed them, buried them deeper into that hair, grasping it like a lifeline. A connection.

All of that filled him with new strength.

Not the desperate, determined kind that he’d known for almost all his life.

Not the fearless, accepting-one’s-fate kind that you might get when there’s no hope, no escape left.

It was a calm but powerful strength. Rising. Filling him.

_Remember, my boys: you’re one soul, divided in two parts, because it was too bright, too special for one being alone. Cause that’s what twins are. And that’s why they’re always stronger together._

It was the kind of strength he’d known a lifetime ago. The one that had let him know that he was never alone. That there was always someone on his side, someone to have his back.

He wasn’t alone anymore. Only now did he truly understand what that meant.

Two halves, together again. Stronger than ever.

“Get off him!” the voice of the Hydra leader growled, seemingly far away.

He wasn’t moving. Even with the gun against his head the agent couldn’t shoot him. Not in his current position. Not without killing his precious asset as well.

He watched one of the boots rising. Watched – and felt – it being placed against his ribs.

His breaths were even, his heart serene, his mind detached and yet strangely focused at the same time.

He saw the leg jerking, felt the increase of pressure where the boot was pressed against him, ready to kick him off his brother. And a soft smile graced his lips.

_I’ll always have your back, brother!_

With a speed he hadn’t known himself capable of he snapped his right arm forward, grabbed the other leg that was still on the ground around the ankle and yanked with all his might. Just as the soldier leaned back to shove him vigorously off his brother.

His ribs screamed in protest against the kick and he slid sideways, unable to keep position.

But the surprised outcry was music to his ears. From one moment to the next the barrel vanished from his temple, scraping harshly against his skin in the process. A second later his attacker hit the ground in an ungraceful tumble, his head banging against the tarmac with a sickening thud. The gun slid from his suddenly limp fingers.

Jefferson could only stare. It took him a while to realize the eerie silence, only interrupted by some harsh breathing. It wasn’t his own.

Soft footsteps came closer, too soft and unhurried to register as a threat. Still, the fingers of his left hand twitched, closing harder around the strands of hair and his right hand clutched around the next best part of Bucky that he could reach. Familiar looking boots came into view.

“Jefferson? Are you alright?”

He craned his neck, looked up against the strangely bright light of the day and blinked. It was Steve, his shield still in his hand. There was some blood smeared below his nose and some more trickling from a cut at his hairline but otherwise he looked fine. A bit worse for wear maybe, but unharmed. Worried, though.

And just like that the world righted itself again. Everything slid back into its rightful order, just as it had been before. Almost. It felt a tad different. Better now. As if something essential had clicked back into place.

“Yeah,” he affirmed and forced his hands to loosen their grip so he could pick himself up.

“You’re bleeding.”

A hand grabbed his right arm and helped him into a half-sitting, half-kneeling position next to Bucky. His ribs protested the movement a bit and he winced, but he was sure they weren’t broken. He knew from experience that that felt quite different. The burning pain from his wounds was also back with a vengeance, sending stinging tendrils out over his back and down his arm. And so was the headache, protesting against too much commotion only hours after his collision with the barrier.

Steve knelt down next to him, quickly checking that his best friend was still breathing then he carefully grabbed his left elbow and inspected the wound. Hissing against the pain Jefferson looked down as well, seeing the blood running freely down his arm and soaking his expensive, once light green shirt. This was more than a graze. A through-and-through.

He laughed.

In the middle of the street, aching all over, surrounded by unconscious, maybe dead bodies, kneeling between his friends and staring at his own blood, he could do nothing but laugh. It was surreal. Two times in his life he’d gotten into a gunfight. And both times he’d been shot in his left arm. Almost the same spot as last time. Come on, that’s funny.

Steve’s brow furrowed, his worry lines getting more prominent by the second just as his grip on his arm got harder.

_He thinks you’ve lost it again._

_Have I?_

It didn’t feel like it. He felt no panic, no desperation, no fear, nothing that usually opened the doors for the lurking madness in his mind.

He stopped laughing, but a big grin stayed on his face, he couldn’t help it. His shoulders still shook a bit from the last remnants of mirth. And adrenaline.  

“Do I have a mark or something on that arm?”

The super-soldier calmed down a bit at this comment – or at his relatively composed behavior.

“Maybe you should get a metal one.” For a short second their eyes met and Steve’s lips twitched into a cocky grin before he became sober again. “We should get that bandaged.”

“Yeah, just- in a moment.”

Jefferson pulled his arm away from Steve and leaned down to Bucky to shake his shoulder.

“Time to wake up, brother.” No reaction. He shook him a little bit harder. “Bucky, come on.”

Nothing.

_What’s wrong? Why won’t he wake up?_

And just like that the fear was back, clawing its talons into his heart again. He grabbed his shoulder and pulled his brother onto his back. His head lolled with the motion. He leaned over him, braced his left hand against his chest and slapped his right repeatedly against his cheek to rouse him.

“Come on! Wake up, Bucky. Wake up!”

Still no reaction.

He turned his head to look at Steve, who seemed way calmer than he should be in this situation. Why wasn’t he afraid?

“What the hell happened?” he shouted, too agitated to stay calm or civil. “What did they _DO_ to him?”

Steve raised a placating hand and placed it on his arm, the one that had slapped his brother, to keep him from repeating it. His other hand came to rest on Bucky’s head, gently turning it in his direction so he could check his unconscious face.

“I’m not sure, but I’ve got an idea. I’ve read about this. Trigger words that are implanted during a period of brainwashing to shut the subject down in case something went wrong.”

_An off-switch. In case they lost control over their homemade killer._

_Sounds like Hydra._

Jefferson couldn’t believe it. His response got cut short, though, by the ringing of his phone. It took him a moment to place the sound and finally answer the call – after dodging bullets and fighting for his and Bucky’s life receiving a phone call seemed odd And strangely mundane.

“Huh?” he said without looking who it was. His voice hoarse after everything.

“Jefferson? Are you alright?”

His eyes narrowed in confusion, unable to fit the urgent voice into the current line of events. “Emma?”

“Yes, it’s me. And Regina. We’re here. We- we saw everything. Are you really okay?”

He swallowed, trying to concentrate. “Yeah. You saw? You-“

“Oh just get your damn asses in here!” shouted another voice close to Emma through the phone. Impatient and irritated and without a doubt Regina.

The familiarity of that comment made him chuckle dryly. “There’s nothing I’d like more, but how exactly?”

“We have a scroll here. It should take you inside. At least we hope.”

He chose to ignore her uncertainty. The last hours had put him through enough already he wasn’t about to start fretting over yet another possible disaster. There was, however, something else that wasn’t so easily ignored.

“What about them?” he asked Steve and indicated the unmoving bodies of the Hydra agents all around them with a tilt of his head. “We can’t just leave them here. They’ll find the barrier. If they haven’t seen it already. I can’t let that happen! They have to be dealt with. They can’t… Storybrooke has enough trouble on its plate. I can’t put Hydra on that list as well.”

He’d seen enough to know that Hydra would never let this go. Especially not if they thought that this barrier had something to do with their former asset and their enemy number one. At the moment Storybrooke might be safe with the barrier but there’d been a time without one, where anybody had been able to come and go as they pleased. Steve was living prove of that. The world wasn’t ready to find out about magic – least of all Hydra – and even more importantly: he couldn’t put his friends and family at such a risk!

Steve looked taken aback. Maybe his words had been a bit harsher than intended or maybe Steve didn’t see the possibly devastating consequences that this could have just yet.

“What are you suggesting?” he asked in a strangely cold, almost defying tone. “Killing them?”

_What?_

“No! Of course not!” Images of Rumlow’s limp body came back to mind, unbidden. As did the weight of Priscilla’s dead body in his arms and her blood on his hands. As did his countless nightmares. His jaw clenched in anger. How could Steve possibly think he’d suggest something like that?

“I’d never… I wouldn’t…”

The blond’s shoulders sagged and he put his hand on his lower arm, squeezing apologetically.

“I know… I’m sorry. And you’re right. We can’t just leave them here. I- give me a minute, I’ve got an idea.”

And just like that he got up and started bustling about. With trained efficiency he dragged or carried all six Hydra agents into the forest at the side of the street, propping them against trees and binding their hands and legs together with something he took out of their tac-vests. He emptied their pockets of bandages and used them as gags, except for one. With that one he dressed the still bleeding gunshot wound in the one guy’s leg that Jefferson had caused. In between he pulled his own phone out and talked with someone. Emma was distracting him so he couldn’t listen in but he supposed it was either Nat or Tony.

“They’re taken care of,” Steve announced when he came back.

At the same moment an antique looking scroll rolled towards them on the ground, seemingly coming out of nowhere. He took it as soon as it came into reach.

“And now? Am I supposed to read it or how does it work?” he asked into his phone and into the direction the thing had come from although he could see nothing that way, just an empty street.

“I’m not sure…” Emma started but Regina chimed in again. “Oh give me the damn thing.” An instant later her voice was loud and clear. She had to be speaking directly into the phone now. “Jefferson? Just take it, hold onto one another and step through. That should work.”

He raised an eyebrow. “ _Should_. So you’re not sure.”

“Of course I’m not sure. I’ve never done this and I’ve never seen a scroll like that. But it’s the only chance we got except you’re able to read ancient runes. So do it already!”

Jefferson nodded. Moments later he stood in front of the barrier, his pounding left arm pulled close against his chest with the scroll in his hand. It wasn’t bleeding as freely as before but maybe he really should get it bandaged. Steve was right next to him with the limp form of Bucky in his arms, the shield placed on his chest for lack of free hands to carry it. He had to look away, the whole picture reminded him way too much of the last time Steve had carried Bucky like this. And that last time he’d barely been alive.

Instead he focused on the seemingly empty street in front of him.

With a last deep breath he placed his right hand on Steve’s shoulder, holding on tightly as he put one foot forward tentatively. In case this shouldn’t work he didn’t intend to get punched in the face again.

But it worked.

His foot met no resistance. At all. Instead it seemed to vanish into thin air where it passed the barrier. He almost smiled a bit. This was nothing new, just like stepping through the looking glass. So he went on, gently pushing the blond forward and only when he was sure that they were able to pass as well did he continue walking ahead.

Emma and Regina waited on the other side, both of them looking relieved. Emma stepped towards him, a bit paler than usual and with a worry in her eyes that she had never directed at him before.

“You really okay?” He nodded just as they were interrupted by Regina.

“Oh, enough with this. See if you can help him somehow, will you?” She waved her hand in between Emma and Bucky before she grabbed his uninjured arm and pulled him away a few steps to give him a quick once-over. Her lips pressed into a condescending line as one of her eyebrows rose. “You really _do_ have a knack for making enemies wherever you go, huh?”

She inspected his arm for a moment then let her hand hover above it.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips. “You know, just this once they weren’t after me.”

The sudden tingling around his wound made him gasp. He knew the feeling of being healed by magic. It was distracting and itching and uncomfortable, as if hundreds of bees were crawling around and inside the wound, but it only lasted for an instant. He’d never been healed by Regina, though.

The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile as she saw his surprise.

“I never knew you had it in you, Jefferson. To fight like that.” Hearing the amazement in her voice and seeing the respect in her eyes astonished him even further. And yet, it filled him with an unexpected satisfaction.

“He’s family.”

More words weren’t necessary. She understood only too well, judging by her expression and that almost fond smile.

“I’m glad you found him.”

Regina took a step to the side and looked at his back. A second – and a swarm of bees – later the burning pain at his back was gone. She repeated the whole process over his bruised and swollen face as well.

“Thank you, Regina.”

The words weighed heavy in the air and suddenly it all came back to him, pushed aside by Hydra’s surprise attack. His devastating fear for Grace. The bone-crushing relief at hearing her voice again. Without thinking he closed his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. He didn’t pay attention to her startled squeal and he didn’t bother that he was hugging the woman who’d made his life a living hell. It wasn’t important anymore.

The only thing that counted – outweighed absolutely everything – was that she had saved Grace. She’d kept his precious little girl save when he couldn’t. And he’d never forget that.

“ _Thank you,_ Regina _._ ”

And she squeezed back in the end, relaxing in his grip. He knew she understood what he was saying. But it only lasted a moment. She was Regina after all.

She started struggling and pushed him away – gently – only to eye the right sleeve of her blue coat with disgust and an irritated, resigned sigh. “Well done,” she grumbled, looking down at the bloodstains that glistened on her clothes.

He wanted to apologize yet the sudden groan behind him and Steve’s “Bucky?” made the words die on his tongue. Instead he turned around with haste and knelt next to his brother in an instant while Emma took a step back, staring at her hands in wonder, as if she hadn’t expected whatever she’d done to work.

“Bucky?”

Another groan. His head rolled and he grimaced in discomfort before he opened his eyes. He blinked up at them for a second before his eyes flew open widely and he jerked up into a sitting position in one lightning fast movement.

“Woah, slow down Buck,” Steve said, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulder to keep him from any other rash actions and to calm him down.

Bucky was clearly confused and disoriented, his gaze sweeping over Steve, lingering on the blood on his face. Quickly his eyes turned to him, gasping at his healed face or – more likely – the blood soaking his sleeve. He blinked again, looking around quickly, scrutinizing the two women for a second and searching for the Hydra agents, no doubt, before he looked at him again with that haunting mixture of worry and confusion and guilt.

“Jeff?”

“I’m okay. It’s healed already.”

And he saw a tiny bit of tension leaving his brother’s shoulders.

“What happened? Where’s Hydra?”

“They’re taken care of,” Steve explained. “They knocked you out with some kind of trigger word or something.”

Jefferson could see Bucky’s jaw muscles move as he clenched his teeth, anger quickly bubbling up in his narrowed eyes – but not fast enough. He’d seen the flash of fear. The thought that Hydra still had some control over him must be terrifying for him.

“So that’s what Rumlow did to overpower me.” He looked first at Steve. “You shouldn’t have had to fight them on your own.”

Steve grinned lopsidedly. “I didn’t.”

He felt uncomfortable under the blond’s praising gaze. It wasn’t justified. Steve had done all the real fighting. As his brother’s gaze fell upon him as well, surprised and guilty, he couldn’t take it and shrugged.

“I didn’t really fight. I only tried to keep them away from you,” he explained, sheepishly avoiding looking at Bucky.

A snort sounded behind him and from the corner of his eyes he saw Emma crossing her arms in front of her chest next to him. “I’ll be damned if that wasn’t fighting, Jefferson. You knocked out two of these creeps all on your own.”

A hand touched his left elbow, disregarding the sticky blood on his shirt. He knew it was Bucky even before he raised his eyes to finally meet his gaze again.

“I’m sorry. You’re no soldier. I should have protected you.”

Jefferson scrutinized his brother. Let his eyes wander over his whole body to make sure that he really was okay. Then he got up, shaking his head, smiling. He held his hand out for Bucky, who took it, and pulled him to his feet.

“You know,” he chuckled, “actually it’s my job to protect _you_! I’m the older one after all.”

Bucky stared at him for a second. Next thing Jefferson knew he received a slap against the back of his head only to find himself in a short but close embrace a second later. Two simple words were uttered close to his ear, “Thanks, brother.”

“So- you really _are_ Captain America, huh? Never thought I’d meet you in real life,” he heard Emma say behind him, immediately followed by Regina’s snappish reply, “Oh, of course. Henry mentioned the shield. But- who the hell came up with that horrendous name?”

He had to stifle a giggle. The adrenaline still pumping through his veins made him giddy and keyed up. He needed to focus, to-

“Is that- a metal hand?”

He and his brother moved apart just in time to see Regina roll her eyes and arch an eyebrow at Emma’s ashonishment. “Says the one whose boyfriend has a metal _hook_ for a hand!”

Bucky stepped back a bit, warily scrutinizing the women that were total strangers to him. Steve stood not far from Bucky, his gaze was hefted on Regina, his contempt carefully guarded behind a cautious expression and a forced smile. Jefferson knew he should maybe introduce them all properly or say something to diffuse Steve’s tension regarding Regina but at the moment there was only one important thing on his mind.

Only one.

“Where’s Grace?”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "sputnik"-part is from the comics, just in case you're wondering.
> 
> They're finally back in Storybrooke where it all began and Steve gets to see some more magic in action.  
> So it's no wonder next chapter tomorrow will be:  
> Part Six: Hope - Meet the Family


	21. Part Six: Hope - Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finally meets Grace.

**Part Six: Hope**

Meet the Family

 

The moment Bucky heard those words, heard that urgency in his brother’s voice a pang of guilt and shame made him almost flinch. He had completely forgotten about the girl. What did that say about his qualities as an uncle? Or about him as a person in general?

_How could I forget about her? She’s the reason we’re here!_

He clenched his jaw and unconsciously balled his hands to fists.

_Damn Hydra!_

Their sudden appearance had caught him off-guard, although he still wondered how that was even possible. He’d _known_ the moment he’d laid eyes on that tracker that it was only a matter of time. He’d listened for anything unusual the whole night. Had he really been that distracted by Jeff’s worry and jumpiness?

Suddenly waking up surrounded by people he didn’t know and at a different place than he remembered with each and every Hydra agent gone hadn’t exactly put him at ease. Learning that there obviously was an off-switch installed into his mind as if he were a TV that you could turn off when you didn’t like the program hadn’t exactly calmed him down either.

And yet he couldn’t help thinking about what Tony had said.

Even though it hadn’t been his intention, the situation had forced him to rely on others. Sure, that clearly hadn’t been what Tony’d had in mind, and unwittingly putting his brother in danger hadn’t been his own plan, but learning that his friends, his brothers, had his back, no matter how dire the situation, felt damn reassuring. Terrifying on some level, yet nonetheless damn reassuring.

And there was the other thing as well: he _knew_ about that trigger now. He _knew_ now how they’d overpowered him twice already and how they’d go about it next time, no doubt feeling cocksure about it. But knowledge is power and Tony was right. He could prepare now. He wasn’t sure how exactly, but he’d find a way. Together with Steve and Jeff. He never wanted to be used like this again. Ever.

“She’s with my parents.”

Bucky was more than happy to focus on something else when the blond woman spoke. He knew from Jeff’s explanation earlier that the two women must be Emma and Regina. One had tormented his brother for years, even decades, the other had saved him. One he’d like to thank the other he’d like to strangle. Slowly. But there was no way of knowing who’s who. And now wasn’t the time to ask questions like that, not when his brother was longing to see his daughter again after weeks. And especially after last night.

He couldn’t help scrutinizing them, though, to try to get a read on them and figure out which one was the detestable one.

Something, some basic instinct, something ingrained into his very being as a human, urged him to associate light hair with “good” and dark hair with “evil”. He’d be a fool to listen to that, though, and he knew that.

_Although it fits for us. Steve, the bright light, and I, the shadow in the darkness._

Quickly he disregarded those thoughts, they would only distract him. And he’d been distracted enough already. So instead he focused on the two women again. Trying to find clues to their identity while he wiped his hand, sticky with his brother’s blood, against his jeans. None of them had any similarity with the image of the Regina that he’d painted in his mind: a narrow face with tightly pulled back hair, cold pale eyes and thin lips drawn into a malicious smirk.

The blonde had her hands hooked into the back pockets of her tight fitting pants and the way she stood as well as the practical grey leather jacket spoke of a woman of action. She wasn’t one for standing still. The dark-haired woman on the other hand rested her weight just on one foot and had her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her clothes were elegant and the way she held herself spoke of authority, but also defensiveness.

They were so different. And although he still deemed his first assumption more likely he couldn’t be sure. Until he knew which of them he needed to keep a close eye on he’d carefully watch them both.

There was one thing, though, that both women had in common. They shared the same soft and knowing smile when the blonde assured Jeff of his daughter’s safety. There was something about that smile that assured him that they _knew_ how he felt.

_Mothers._

“They should be here any moment.”

_More people coming?_

He kept himself from shuffling but only by sheer force of willpower. He hadn’t been surrounded by this many people that might actually interact with him in quite a while and it felt a bit overwhelming. If it were up to him he’d liked to have more time to adjust to everything and find out who he was now. This wasn’t about him, though. This was about Jeff and Grace.

_Oh shit. I’ll be meeting her. I’ll meet her in just a few moments!_

In all the hectic and tension of last night he hadn’t realized that little fact. He was actually going to see his niece for the first time. His throat got a bit tight as he thought about it.

Jeff’s face relaxed only to light up in anticipation.

The dark-haired woman on the other hand changed her pleasant smile for a grimace of disgust as she looked down at the sleeve of her blue coat. And the dark, wet blood stains there. His brother’s blood. It had to be. But how did it get there?

“High time to get rid of _that_!”

And just like that, with nothing but a casual flick of her wrist, the stains vanished into thin air, quite literally. Even if he hadn’t already known about magic and witnessed it once or twice – a lifetime ago – this demonstration would have been a powerful convincement. The woman glanced at Steve then focused on him and Jeff and rolled her eyes. She repeated the gesture and the blood from his brother’s clothes as well as from his own hand and Steve’s face disappeared as well.

“No need to scare her,” she said, crossing glances with Jeff. Bucky couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling that made his skin crawl as he witnessed that look.

Just as her words faded the sound of a car sounded from down the road.

Bucky stepped a bit closer to Steve while Jeff turned around immediately. A moment later a big brown pick-up truck could be seen between the trees, coming their way along the street. He squinted a bit. Indeed, there were three people inside. If it weren’t for the constant shadows moving along the windshield he’d be able to make out more.

The car parked along the side of the street and a tall, blond man got out at the driver’s side, while a petite woman with short dark hair exited at the other side.

_I thought she said her parents were bringing the girl here? No, must be a change of plan, those two cannot possibly be the other woman’s parents! Except…_

He remembered Jeff’s tale of the curse and how it was broken and that time was suspended in town while the savior grew up to be 28. But that means, if those two really were the blonde’s parents then that makes the blond woman Emma, the savior. The woman who broke the curse and made it possible for Jeff to get his Grace back. It also meant that he’d been right and the other one was Regina.

He wanted to look at them again with this new knowledge in mind but got distracted by the overjoyed exclamation that filled the air.

“ _PAPA!_ ”

A flurry of motion whizzed from the car towards Jeff, all flying hair and bobbing tails of red cardigan. The girl crossed the distance in a heartbeat, throwing herself into the arms of her waiting father.

“Grace,” Jeff whispered, joyful and reverent all the same.

She pressed close to him, her face hidden against his chest and her arms tightly circled around his waist. Bucky couldn’t see much of her, just her red cardigan and her long light brown hair. And her hands that gripped her father’s vest at his back as if she was afraid he’d leave if she let go. Jeff on the other hand he could watch, at least in profile. He held his little girl – that wasn’t so little after all – against him, had his arms securely around her shoulders and back as if he’d never let her go again. Ever. His head was bowed so that his lips rested against her hair.

Bucky could hear their quiet mumbling as they were talking to each other, exchanging assurances of their wellbeing most likely. Or more apologies. Or simple statements of love. He wasn’t sure. He only saw that they were both starting to relax. Jeff’s shoulders lost their tension and his right hand began stroking through her long hair across her back while the girl’s hands slowly unclenched and loosened their death-grip in favor of just placing her palms against his back.

A long sigh escaped Jeff’s lips as he raised his head and slowly pulled back a bit, just enough to look at her.

He’d thought he’d seen his brother happy during that video-chat with Grace at her birthday. Now he knew that that had been nothing. Not compared with that broad grin that split his face now and brought out a lovely set of crinkles around his eyes. His whole posture seemed freer and more relaxed – unburdened somehow. And his eyes were glowing, alight with life and joy and plain simple happiness.

It was too much to watch for him, but he couldn’t look away either, as if his eyes were glued to them. Watching them interact, watching their delight and relief at seeing the other again, and unharmed, it roused a longing in him. He couldn’t really place it, but images of his mothers flitted before his eyes. Of his real mother’s loving smile and her tender kisses. Of his adoptive mother’s gentle caresses. But also of his father’s strong arms and tight embraces and his adoptive father’s affectionate slaps on the back.

Seeing his brother like that, but on the other side of that relationship, as a father to a lovely girl, it made him feel out of place. Like an intruder that didn’t belong there.

Something of his thoughts must have shown somehow – or Steve had unacknowledged mind-reading capabilities that he didn’t know of – because he felt his friend step closer, bumping their arms together. The blond waited till he got his attention then cocked his eyebrow towards Jeff and Grace and shook his head slightly with a gentle smile as if to say “don’t worry”.

Finally Grace took a step back although her father’s hands still rested on her upper arms, unwilling to break the connection completely. He squeezed her arms a bit. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

The girl put her hand on one of his arms and grinned up at him. “And I’m glad you’re back!”

Then she turned her head and for a moment her eyes fell directly on him. Bucky tensed. She gently pushed Jeff’s hands off and turned fully in his direction. She’d noticed him and it wasn’t hard to put one and one together. This time he couldn’t wiggle out of it.

Steve saved him. His friend stepped forward, right into her line of view and he heard her joyful squeal. “Steve!” She sounded as if she hadn’t noticed him at all so far. Probably she hadn’t with all her focus lying on her father and then on her uncle.

Next thing Bucky saw were her arms encircling his friend this time and Steve hugged her back. He could hear them talk quietly, but this time they stood close enough that he could hear their words.

“Thank you, Steve. For bringing him back to me safely!”

“Hey, I promised, didn’t I?”

She let go again and the blond stepped back, effectively ending Bucky’s short reprieve. There was no escaping anymore and no more hiding.

Grace just stood there, her head tilted a bit to the side as she eyed him from head to toe. She bit her lip in concentration – or consideration? Hesitation? – until her gaze came to rest on his face. Her expression opened up and she started to smile which made her green eyes practically dance with mirth. She reminded him so much of Becky in that moment, of her vibrance and vitality that it almost hurt.

He wanted to keep her close, to soak in that aura of life itself.

He wanted to push her away, to keep her safe from himself. From the monster within.

He wanted to be a part of what she shared with Jeff.

He wanted to stay away to not sully them with his darkness.

He wanted too much and so very different things, that he had no idea what he wanted at all.

It left him confused and insecure. So he did the only thing that he actually could do right now. He said hello.

“Hi Grace.”

Her face lit up even more if that was possible and she stepped closer, slowly, her eyes never leaving his until she stood right in front of him. She was so tiny. A foot smaller than him and so slim. He could break her with nothing but a snap of his fingers. That scared him. And yet she still smiled, completely unfazed.

“Welcome home, Uncle Bucky.”

Her arms wrapped around him before he knew what was happening. With her small hands against his back and the side of her face pressed against his chest he almost missed her speak. Not because her voice was so low – it wasn’t – but because he was too stunned by her trusting nature.

“I’m so happy he found you!”

Those words shot directly to his heart, but instead of piercing it or squeezing it like so many other things had they enclosed it like a blanket, touched it with care and wrapped it in warmth.

So he acted on instinct.

He closed his arms around her narrow shoulders, felt the soft texture of her cardigan beneath his fingers and squeezed her back. Tentatively and very cautiously. This was nothing like hugging Steve or Jeff after all. His brother was _his brother_ , simple as that, and hugging Steve came naturally, especially now that he had his memories back. But this girl in his arms was special, she was precious to his brother, more precious than anything else and he’d never forgive himself if he’d hurt her somehow.

So when he felt her tense he let go of her immediately and froze with his arms hovering in mid-air, just a few inches away from her back.

_What did I do? Did I hold her too tightly?_

He was afraid – or sure – to have done something wrong, that he’d hurt her or scared her somehow, but he didn’t know how. It wasn’t important anyway. Just as he was about to step back, to give her space and hopefully save the situation she let go of him and pushed back a bit. Her brow was furrowed – in displeasure? Skepticism? Unease? He couldn’t tell. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead she turned a bit and grabbed for his left hand.

Bucky was too stunned to move it away for a moment. Her fingers traced his metal ones, stroked with a light touch across his palm and the back of his hand after she’d pulled it in front of her. And all the while she eyed it with interest and fascination. Her fingertips followed the edge of his palm down to his wrist and the lines on her forehead grew deeper.

“The whole arm?” she asked, looking up at him with an expression he couldn’t read. But it made his throat close up. Swallowing against the lump he just nodded.

“So it’s- like a prosthesis?”

“Yeah,” he croaked, his voice strangely hoarse. At least he’d found it again. “Something like that. A pretty high-tech one.”

Her face fell and turned into something sad. Sad and compassionate. “Papa never told me that you lost your arm. I’m sorry! What- what happened?”

And there went his voice again.

_How am I supposed to explain? She’s too young for any of it. Too pure to know such horrors. And I can’t… I just can’t!_

He froze, just staring at her, unsure what to do. Nothing in the last weeks – let alone the last decades – had prepared him for a moment like this. Grace never turned her eyes away and suddenly something in her gaze shifted. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was just a glimmer of- awareness? She lowered his hand and let go, a smile on her face all of a sudden and she shrugged.

“You know, it’s really not important. Main thing is, you survived and you’re here now,” she beamed, almost a bit cheekily. “Although I never thought you’d come.”

Bucky had a hard time not staring at her in wonder. She was so young and yet so perceptive. She’d felt his unease and had changed topic. And she’d made the lump in his throat dissolve just as suddenly as it had formed.

“That call of yours had all of us freaked. We were worried for you, so of course I came. I had to make sure that you were okay.” To his own surprise he felt the beginnings of a grin play across his lips. “And that Jeff didn’t do anything stupid.”

Grace laughed. She didn’t even try to stifle it somehow. That sound, so clear and carefree, made him smile and before he knew it some of his doubts, of his fears and concerns evaporated. Just like that.

“Sorry to interrupt-“

He blinked up at the female voice, startled as he realized that he’d forgotten about the strangers around him – _when did I let my guard down like this? And around the Evil Queen? What was I thinking? What is wrong with me?_ – only to find the blonde standing next to the two newcomers from the car, an apologetic expression on her face.

“- but we really need to get back and find a way to Arendelle. Do you guys need a lift?”

Although her eyes roamed over them all her question seemed to be focused on Jeff.

His brother shook his head. “No, thank you Emma. We’ll walk. It’s just half a mile from here, so- we’re fine.”

Emma turned towards the dark-haired woman in the blue coat who stood a bit apart from them, neither a part of any of their little groups. “Regina? What about you?”

Now he not only got time but also the perfect excuse to look at her again. Regina. There was something about her, something aloof that set her apart from the others.

“No thanks. I’ve got no desire to squeeze myself in there or to ride on the truck-bed. And anyway, I’ve got to find Robin. I need to put a heart back where it belongs.”

There was something absolutely unhappy about her face right before she raised her hands and puffed out into blackish smoke.

He saw Steve startle out of the corner of his eyes, the others didn’t react at all.

Bucky only twitched for a second, surprised at her disappearing act, but his mind was still too preoccupied by trying to make sense of her to be shocked by that sudden display of advanced magic.

This had been the woman who had saved Grace, who’d made sure she wouldn’t be harmed during the curse. This had also been the woman who had made Jeff’s life a living hell. Who’d kept him from his daughter and trapped him in Wonderland. Anger settled in his belly, the same that always grumbled deep inside of him whenever he thought about that woman. He couldn’t help it. But he could – and would – respect his brother’s wish. He wouldn’t harm her – not unless she attacked first at least. Jeff had never asked him to like her, though. Good thing, because that promise he wouldn’t have been able to keep.

“What heart?” Jeff asked, spinning around towards Emma, confused. “She took a _heart_? _Again_? But I thought… Who?”

_Wait, she meant that_ literally _? A heart? What kind of magic can steal hearts?_

The short pixie-like woman answered, looking pained. “Marian’s. It was the only way to save her life after the Snow Queen had cursed her. Now that she’s gone, hopefully that curse is as well.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what’s the deal with this “taking a heart”-thing was but so far it sounded as if Regina’d saved yet another person. It didn’t fit the picture of her he had in his mind. It fit the things Jeff had said about her, though. Well, he should know that things weren’t always black and white. He needed to contemplate this, but not now.

When he pushed his musings aside and paid more attention to his surroundings he noticed the completely confused and wary expression on Steve’s face – so he didn’t know about this whole heart-thing either. And his previous encounters with magic obviously hadn’t let him consider magic like _that_. Grace studied their reactions and Jeff… Jeff pressed his lips together in the same pained expression Emma’s mother still wore. There had to be more to this story than he knew.

“We really need to go,” Emma interrupted them while pushing her parents in the direction of the car. “I’m so happy for you, Jefferson. And I hope we’ll see you all again soon to properly get to know each other.” Her eyes flicked to him and Steve, a sincere smile on her lips. “Right now duty calls.”

She waved goodbye as well as her parents – calling them “her parents” felt strange, even just in his head. A minute later the truck roared to life and soon vanished between the trees.

Silence settled as the sound of the engine died away.

Jeff turned and shrugged, a bit tired but mostly just relieved and relaxed. “Alright. Let’s get home!”

Grace spun around, her hair billowing out around her for a second. There was a huge grin on her face. Without hesitation she gripped for his hand – again the metal one, although he doubted that she did it on purpose or even noticed – and pulled him along towards the forest. “Come on! It’s not far!”

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Not after her welcome. Not after her reaction in that video-chat a few weeks ago and yet he still was. She just pulled him in and included him into her world as if it were quite natural. So he followed her. Of course he followed her. When he glanced back Jeff and Steve were right behind them, observing and smiling. Grace pulled his attention forward again by talking. And she still hadn’t let go of his hand.

“I’m so curious! Papa told me you got your memories back.” She looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he replied. “Two days ago. I still don’t know why but they came back all of a sudden.”

Grace frowned. “All at once? Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been a killer. A lifetime of memories rushing back is pretty unpleasant. And very confusing.”

This girl never ceased to amaze him. How could she possibly get how it fee-

_Oh. Right. She knows what it feels like. Even more so. Just like Jeff she must have two sets of memories in her head. I never thought about that._

Jeff had described it once in one of their morning talks. “Two lives in your head, constantly at odds.” That had been his words.

_Maybe we’re more alike than I thought._

He might not have two sets of memories, but his memories from before Hydra were certainly at odds with the one during his time with Hydra. Two lives, so completely, horribly different, that it’s hard to put them together somehow.

Maybe they knew a way to adapt. And maybe his family understood him better than he’d thought.

“You can say that again,” he finally mumbled.

“So… you remember.” The left corner of her mouth pulled upward in a lopsided grin and her green eyes sparkled – she must have those eyes from her mother. Whatever the girl was thinking, it was either something naughty or she wanted something from him. “That’s _so_ cool! I want to know everything!”

_Everything_.

His throat closed up again. Here it was: the expectation. He knew it would come sooner or later. He couldn’t answer her. Not right now anyway. Not before he’d figured out how to come to terms with his past. He wasn’t the carefree Bucky anymore and he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore but he needed to find out who he was for himself before he could muse over _how_ and _what_ he could tell his niece. He missed his footing but recovered immediately thanks to his quick reflexes. Grace’s grip tightened around his hand.

“How was Papa as a kid? Quiet or mischievous? A know-it-all? A troublemaker? Did you two switch roles and made people believe you were the other one? Please, Bucky! Tell me!”

While the relief that washed over him still eased his tense muscles so that he could breathe again a fond – and unbelieving – smile tugged at his lips. He _really_ should have known by now. With all that going on it took him a second to progress her words. But when he _did_ he had to laugh. An honest, liberating laugh that flushed even more of his concerns away.

Maybe it was really that easy, being part of their – of _his_ – family. There were no questions, no conditions, just acceptance and open arms. Most of all from Grace. She was amazing and he loved her already.

“Oh yes,” he said, winking at her. “A troublemaker, definitely! He got into trouble all the time with that big mouth of his. Never knew when to shut up. And I had to get him out again.”

“Hey, that’s not true!” Jeff butted in immediately. And indignantly. A quick glance back revealed a snickering Steve and his brother who picked up speed and joined them at his other side a moment later, his whole face scrunched up in good-natured outrage.

“Don’t listen to him, Grace! And you, mister,” he nudged Bucky’s arm, “you’re no saint either! What about all those times your stupid ideas got us into trouble? ‘Come on, let’s explore this cave.’ ‘Oh, look, a ramshackle hut in the forest, let’s go inside.’ ‘Hey, Old Bessie made nut cake and left it on the bench in front of the house. Let’s steal some!’” Jeff raised his eyebrow at him and Bucky recognized the gesture for what it was: a challenge. “The way I remember it, you got us into far more trouble than I ever could. And that _big mouth of mine_ saved us more than once!”

Grace’s trilling laugh was music in his ears.

Steve’s head appeared between them and he threw his arms around them both, closing his fingers jovially around their shoulders. “The way _I_ see it, the two of you together must have been a menace. I pity the other people in your village. You must have driven them crazy!”

The bickering and bantering went on, filling him with a warmth and a feeling of belonging and hope that he hadn’t felt in ages. And he enjoyed every second of it, soaked it up right into his bones. He was listening to a sassy comment from Grace when the trees around him opened up to a small street. And right to their left it lead through a big gate, up a driveway to a gigantic building. More a mansion than a normal house. There was a big flight of stairs up to the entrance and lots of windows and a rooftop terrace on one side.

Bucky knew his eyes got big. Very big. But he couldn’t help it.

“That’s where you live?” he asked, his voice a bit breathless in disbelief.

He heard Grace giggle somewhere while Jeff stifled a laugh and shrugged. “Yep. That’s our humble home."

He shook his head incredulously. “Who are you? Storybrooke’s version of Tony Stark?”

 

 

 

It was a strange feeling to be back again. To sit at the big dining table in the kitchen where it had all started two months ago. _Has it really been two months?_ It felt like much more time had passed while, at the same time, it felt like everything had happened incredibly fast.

Steve closed his hands around the warm porcelain in his hands and inhaled the soothing scent of tea – it was a herbal mixture Jeff had chosen.

Last time he’d been here they’d had breakfast after a sleepless night and Grace had overwhelmed him with information about the town and its inhabitants. So much had happened but he was back now. With Bucky. And Grace had found a new focus for her attention.

A smile tugged at his lips. The girl was enamored with her uncle, everything about him seemed to fascinate her, most of all the possibility to learn about her father’s childhood. And Bucky? In all those weeks, not even after he’d gotten his memories back, had he seen his friend this open and relaxed. And roguish. Grace somehow managed it to put him at ease and coax glimpses of the old Bucky back to the surface. The one he’d grown up with. They really seemed to hit it off with each other.

After his friend had overcome his shock about the size of the building Grace had insisted to give her uncle the tour – not the whole tour, but of the important parts of the house, which means the ones they actually used on a regular basis. Well, Jefferson wasn’t one to brag about being rich, which probably came from the fact that he didn’t care about it for one thing and that initially it had been part of Regina’s curse to mock him further. So, without a heads-up on the matter Bucky had been pretty floored to find out.

Afterwards they’d all jumped at the opportunity to get a nice, hot shower. Without a fresh change of clothes, though, Jefferson had ransacked his wardrobe until he’d found some clothes that actually fit him and Bucky. The pants hadn’t been that much of a problem, the shirts on the other hand…

Bucky’d ended up with a thin, dark blue turtle neck that stretched dangerously around his shoulders while an ordinary white T-shirt hugged his own chest almost as close as his skin. Back in the kitchen with Jefferson, who’d donned yet another set of tailored shirt, vest and cravat – this time in a really dark violet – they looked like a pair of show-off bodybuilders next to a fashion model.

Grace’s words.

The girl had cracked up as she’d seen them.

Still laughing they’d sat down all together for a cup of tea and some biscuits. They’d needed the quiet to wind down a bit and used it to chat about mundane things mostly. 

Grace had filled them in on what she knew about the happenings of last night. The Snow Queen had been defeated by Emma and some people from another world who were trapped here and looking for a way home. Which obviously wasn’t easy he learned. First a portal jumping hat and now there were beans – hard to come by but able to open portals. He refused to even think about it and just stopped wondering altogether.

She’d also informed her father that the Woods were at the hospital. Apparently they had attacked each other out of spite and fallen down the stairs in their consequent struggle.  They weren’t hurt too badly - broken bones and a concussion and lots of guilty conscience – but it had made them realize the danger that this town had been under last night.

Jeff had immediately called Victor to make sure that he was okay. He was, but being a doctor he’d been more than busy with a hospital full of people who’d been injured during the curse. He’d promised to come by the next day, though, as soon as everything quieted down a bit.

Afterwards they’d worked together to answer Grace’s questions which had ranged from the harmless “How’s New York?” to the more complicated “How did you know where to look for Bucky?” or – when he’d blabbed – “You were _locked up_ in New York? Why? And why did this man suddenly let you go now? Did you break out?”.

In the end the questions had subsided and a quiet, almost exhausted mood had settled over them. It wasn’t really surprising after the events of last night and then their unexpected run-in with Hydra this morning.

Steve used the tranquility to take a sip of his second mug of tea. There was one thing, though, that still bugged him although he’d tried to shake it for a while now. Regina.

He’d met the woman eight weeks ago for the first time without knowing who she was. Even back then he’d felt that there was something connecting her and Jefferson, something he couldn’t name between her brusque behavior and her kind actions, between Jefferson’s wonder and his underlying fear. But then he’d heard so much about her and now he’d met her again. After she’d saved Grace.

She’d still been brusque, but she’d healed them and had been friendly with Jefferson. It seemed there was truth in the former portal jumper’s words about her having changed. He hadn’t missed the pained expressions on some of the faces when it came to that strange putting-a-heart-back-affair.

“Who is this Marian?” he asked out of the blue.

As always, Grace was very helpful with information like that. “She’s Robin’s wife.” Although the information itself didn’t help him at all.

“And who’s Robin?”

“Robin Hood. He’s the Mayor’s boyfriend.“

Steve nearly spluttered the sip of tea he’d just taken. And he wasn’t sure why exactly. Because the girl told him so nonchalantly about someone having an affair as if it was open knowledge – _maybe it is?_ – or because he remembered going to the movies with Bucky to watch “The Adventures of Robin Hood” with Errol Flinn? Maybe both.

“Come again?” he mustered.

Jefferson sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. When Regina and Robin met Marian had been dead for years. They fell for each other, although I’m still unsure how exactly that happened with them being so completely different, but that’s something else.”

“It’s because he’s her True Love!” Grace rolled her eyes as if that should be obvious. She shrugged. “Henry told me.”

Steve wasn’t sure that he followed. True Love? The way she said it there was a deeper meaning to the words. One that was lost on him. Bucky seemed more intrigued than confused which confirmed that there was something he was missing. He looked at Jefferson for help.

“It means they’re destined for each other. And they were happy. Damn, I’ve never seen her _that_ happy before. Then the Wicked Witch happened and her time travel portal. Emma and Hook got sucked in, back into the Enchanted Forest in the past and obviously they saved someone who was supposed to be executed. They thought taking her to the future wouldn’t change history. Well, that person was Marian.”

Bucky grimaced and he was sure that his own face displayed the same pained expression he’d seen earlier. That must have been one awkward meeting.

_That’s horrible. For all of them._

_And yet she saved Marian’s life._

“I guess the fact that Robin and Marian have a son together makes the whole mess only more complicated. But enough of that. It’s been a really long night and it’s almost midday and I’m ravenous!“

Steve couldn’t argue with that. Unlike Jefferson he and Bucky had at least eaten something apart from the biscuits from earlier. Nonetheless, a bit of toast, an apple and some energy bars from the quinjet hadn’t been nearly enough to satisfy his amplified metabolism and now that the danger and the elation had died down he felt it acutely. “Sounds like a plan!”

“A good one!” Bucky agreed.

Grace got up and went to the freezer. “The fridge is empty, since I didn’t know you were coming back, but there should be something in the free-“

The bell interrupted her mid-sentence. Grace seemed surprised, her father narrowed his eyes.

“Do you expect someone?” Bucky asked, but his brother shook his head.

“No.” It sounded more like a question than a statement. “Alright, look if you find something suitable, I’ll be back in a moment.”

He left the room and Grace beckoned them to join her so they could all take a look. There were lots of different things frozen for a later use, mostly different kinds of leftovers. The girl read aloud what she found and they commented now and then but he was distracted by the muffled voices from the door. Not even with his better than average hearing could he make out the voice, at least not with that much distance and doors in between. Bucky was also listening with one ear, he could tell.

“Steve? Could you come here for a second?”

Bewildered he shrugged at the other two’s questioning gazes and left for the door. He was more than surprised to find Regina there, standing in the open doorway. Her dark eyes immediately focused on him, the same stoic, almost distant, expression on her face that she’d worn earlier at the townline. Curious but also a bit wary he stepped up next to Jefferson. Now, from up close, he noticed her stoic façade was forced. She was shifting her weight from one leg to the other and while her arms were stiffly held at her sides her fingers were in constant movement, either tapping against her thighs or fumbling with the pockets of her coat. She was restless. He’d almost go as far and call her anxious.

Immediately attentive and not one for beating around the bush he opted for the direct approach. “What happened?”

A flicker of pain flashed across the woman’s face yet she hesitated, if only for a moment. “I need your help.”

_Well, that’s unexpected._

“It’s Marian. She’s dying. She needs to leave the town and get away from magic. But she barely knows the world in here, let alone out there. Robin’s going with her so she won’t be alone but he doesn’t know this world either. You’re from outside. And Jefferson trusts you. Can you help them? Just- do you know of a place where they can stay for the moment? At least until they figure this out?”

Steve could tell that she wasn’t experienced in asking others for help. She was uncomfortable and it showed and although there was a desperate ring to her words she wasn’t pleading with him. Flabbergasted by her words his gaze wandered as his mind tried to grasp the whole situation. That’s when he spotted the car in the driveway. He looked a bit closer and saw a distraught looking man in the backseat who held someone close to him. Someone with dark curls. A kid was kneeling on the passenger seat, peeping back over the backrest at them.

And with a pang he realized that if everything he’d learned earlier was true this woman – Regina, former Evil Queen – was willing to let her love go to save his wife. That must hurt like hell. And it wasn’t the act of an “evil” person.

Even without that revelation his decision had already been made. There was a woman dying, of course he would help, without question. So he nodded and watched a tiny bit of tension drain out of Regina’s posture even before he could say anything.

“Of course I’ll help. I’ll see what I can do. Let’s get her to the townline in the meantime.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And tomorrow the last chapter before the Epilogue (is it really almost over already???):  
> Part Six: Hope - Stronger Together


	22. Part Six: Hope - Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson learns some lessons and our boys get some answers.  
> And then it's time to say goodbye.

**Part Six: Hope**

Stronger Together

 

“They’ve never been to a place like New York. Don’t overwhelm them, okay?”

Tony’s left eyebrow rose lazily while his eyes rolled in exaggerated indignation. “Oh, come on, did I ever overwhelm _you_?”

From Steve’s expression the answer was pretty obvious, but the man with the goatee didn’t give him the opportunity to respond. Instead he turned towards the kid and waved him closer.

“Hey there, champ! Wanna help me fly this thing?”

Roland’s eyes popped open. A bit unsure he looked up to his mother, his gaze pleading and full of wonder. After one last look in their direction, at the same time thankful and frightened, Marian smiled down at him, braced up and led him into the jet, following Stark’s lead. Soon Jefferson couldn’t see them anymore, he only heard Stark talking. And Roland answering.

That man was just impossible to get a read on.

_He’s good with kids. Who’d have guessed that?_

Another set of voices drew his attention. Robin and Regina were standing a bit to the side, talking. He tried to give them their privacy by stepping aside but with nothing but the barely audible humming of the jet and the distant low mumble of voices it was utterly silent around them, so their voices carried anyway.

“She needs you now.”

“I know. And I won’t leave her alone with this. But I will come back to you. As soon as they are settled in this world, as soon as we know how to explain it all to Roland, I _will_ come back.”

“Roland needs his parents, Robin. Both of them!”

“We’ll find a way. Have hope!”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw him pulling something out of Regina’s coat pocket. It looked like a folded piece of paper. By the way her lips started to tremble it meant something to both of them. Robin pressed it into her hand and closed his around it. 

“I love you, Regina!”

They kissed.

Jefferson turned away, feeling like an intruder into this very intimate moment nonetheless. Only when he heard the retreating footsteps did he face the jet again, just as Robin’s form vanished behind the closing hatch.

Together they watched the impressive vehicle rise into the sky. Regina was quiet, her expression unusually open and sad. Her fingers clutched that piece of paper like a lifeline.

She seemed small all of a sudden.

None of them said anything as they headed back across the barrier, clinging to each other and the scroll. The car was waiting for them, just the way they’d left it.

“I’ll take you back,” she said flatly, heading towards the already open driver’s door.

“You’re going to Henry now?” Jefferson asked, unnerved by her dejection.

But instead of lifting her spirits the question merely made her shake her head and sigh. “He’s helping the Charmings. I don’t think I can stand the whole hope committee right now.”

His gaze met Steve’s across the roof of the car while she entered. They were thinking the same thing. He just knew it and Steve knew it, too. They nodded, unanimous, and smiled.

Feeling better already, he entered the passenger seat and closed the door while Steve got in at the back.

“Why don’t you join us for lunch?”

 

 

 

Half an hour later, he’d learned two things.

One: never underestimate Steve. When that man combined his persistence with his charm, even the Evil Queen had no chance of turning down an invitation. Witnessing Regina as a human being, as a real person who cared and loved and was loved back instead of just as the ominous “Evil Queen” in some stories had obviously made him open up to her.

And two: it’s a _very_ bad idea to bring Regina home without giving your assassin-brother a heads up! Bucky had been on edge the moment he laid eyes on her. Glaring daggers so hard that for a moment Jefferson hadn’t been sure if he wouldn’t simply forget about his promise and attack her right then and there.

Well, that level of protectiveness and anger on his behalf was almost flattering if it weren’t creeping him out as well.

Luckily Grace had chosen that moment to welcome her savior and protector with a bit of surprise but a lot of friendly warmth and immediately asked her if she’d prefer chicken curry or goulash. Just what someone wearing a lost expression like Regina needed.

He tapped Bucky’s shoulder and nodded towards the hallway. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Reluctantly his brother followed him until they were out of earshot of the kitchen. “Why is _she_ here?”

“Because I invited her. I couldn’t leave her there. And she _did_ keep Grace safe last night.”

“You don’t owe her anything!” Bucky growled, his voice barely more than a low rumble in his chest.

Jefferson nodded and laid his hands on his brother’s shoulder. “Maybe. Look, I know you don’t like her.” That was the understatement of the year. “I don’t ask you to. But she’s changed and she’s alone and- can you maybe give her a chance? Or the benefit of the doubt at least? If not, just tell me now, okay, because I don’t want to have blood stains in my kitchen.”

He’d aimed for a laugh but it had turned out just a half-hearted grin. Maybe because he wasn’t completely sure if he’d meant it as a joke or not.

“I promised you,” his brother said, taken aback.

Damn, now he felt guilty.

_Maybe he just doesn’t know how scary his glare is._

Together they returned. He still wasn’t exactly reassured but Bucky gave up his death glare and although he certainly made no secret of his contempt, he kept his emotions and opinions to himself and settled with passive hostility. It was probably the best he could hope for. Regina merely cocked an eyebrow at that but didn’t comment on it or reacted any further. He assumed it was something she was used to by now.

Jefferson set up hot water to cook some noodles while Grace heated up both frozen dishes. There should be enough for all of them, the appetite of two super soldiers included.

“So, what was going on at the townline?” his daughter, curious as ever, wanted to know.

“And why did she want you there?” Bucky added.

Well, simply shouting “Regina needs our help at the townline, we’re back shortly” might also make it on the list of not-so-great ideas. Thinking about it now, it was a miracle that Bucky hadn’t just stormed out and stopped them. He needed to ask Grace later how she’d kept him from following them.

Unable to resist a snippy comment in Bucky’s direction where Regina called herself “she” – with emphasis, of course – she started to explain what had happened. Pretty soon her voice turned flat and clipped, though, and he and Steve took over the job of narrator, making it short and keeping the personal stuff they’d witnessed to themselves.

Watching the dark-haired woman frown as they got to the part where Stark had appeared he couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of the man she’d been forced to entrust with the man she loved. Stark was quite unique after all. And he certainly left an impression.

Steve had called him as soon as they’d entered the car, asking him yet again for help for someone else. Sitting close to the blond he’d clearly heard Stark’s “any more assassin friends you intend to bring home that I should know about?” over the phone in the eerily silent vehicle. Nonetheless the man had come at once in yet another of those jets.

_The ramp dropped open, right in the middle of the street, and Stark hopped out. The same bundle of endless energy that he remembered. There was a cocky grin on his face as he pulled his sunglasses off and clipped them into the collar of his T-Shirt._

_“Twice a day? Losing your touch, old man? You know, if this ‘needing help’ thing continues like this, maybe I should get you a nice geriatric nurse?” He stepped closer with a swing in his steps and tapped the back of his fingers against Steve’s chest. “You disappoint me. I know you could’ve squeezed into a smaller size!” His focus switched towards him and although his expression turned a bit more serious that flippant attitude never vanished completely._

_“Hey, Cravat Boy! Your girl alright?”_

_“Um, yeah.”_

_It surprised him to no end. He’d demonized this man for weeks – or tried to forget his very existence. One civil conversation, one glance at the man behind the anger hadn’t been enough for him to simply nullify everything from before. Unlike Stark, who either really held no grudges or was an excellent actor._

_Steve explained the situation to him in few short sentences, somehow managing to leave the magic part out, and introduced the small family. Stark’s eyebrows almost met his hairline as he listened._

_“Robin and Marian? Wow, you guys were truly made for each other, huh? I hope you’re not planning on going all ‘Robin Hood’ on me. I’m funding some homeless shelters and soup kitchens. Monetary redistribution is completely unnecessary!”_

_He’d almost laughed. Almost._

_Steve however turned serious. “He won’t. And Tony… this_ is _Robin Hood.”_

_Stark’s face twisted into a condescending expression. His lips parted, ready to quip something when his eyes suddenly narrowed on whatever he saw in the blond’s face. He took a deep breath and made an effort to keep his relaxed appearance. This time his smile seemed a bit forced._

_“There’re only so much crazy I can take without an explanation, Rogers.”_

As soon as the food was ready they all sat down around the table. Having Regina in his kitchen would’ve been odd enough but having her in his kitchen together with his brother and Steve... it was awkward to say the least. It took a while for their halting conversation to become a fluent one.

Somewhere along Regina’s retelling of what else he’d missed these last two months he noticed that, although Bucky’s wariness never wavered, his burning resentment had turned into a skeptical, almost curious frown.

“Alright,” she put her cutlery down and grabbed for her glass of juice. “Enough of this. I realize that you might find the story of the defilement of my office at the hands of Mary Margaret amusing. Yet I think _your_ story is far more interesting than that. Who were those guys who attacked you this morning and what did they want?”

Grace almost dropped her fork midway to her mouth, startled and shocked. “You were _attacked_?”

 

 

 

“So,” Regina said. And for the first time since she’d turned up unannounced at his doorstep there was actual mirth dancing in her eyes and tugging at her lips. “You made an old lady think you’re gay?”

Jefferson’s lips thinned in resigned annoyance.

_That’s what stuck out for her? Really?_

Their explanation of Hydra and what they’d done to his brother had a few questions later led to the story of how they’d found Bucky in the first place. And out of that whole story – well, there were _some_ details that he’d left out, Grace didn’t need to know the lengths her father was willing to go and he wasn’t sure if he wanted Regina to know, either – she chose _that part_ to remark on? He’d expected her to latch onto the magical totem. And he’d secretly hoped she’d explain to him how his stone pendant could suddenly develop a life of its own and lead him to his brother.

But no, she had to focus on that old lady and his stupid comment. Why did he even mention it?

“Don’t look so miffed. You’d make a cute couple.”

_Did she really just say that?_

Jefferson’s eyes went wide with disbelief and he felt a soft heat rising up his neck beneath his cravat. Steve’s choking sounds – drinking while hearing something like _that_ didn’t go well with one another – followed by coughing sounded through the room. They couldn’t drown out the giggles from his right where Grace tried to hide her amusement behind her hand. Even Bucky who’d done nothing but keeping a very close and leery eye at Regina so far was cocking an eyebrow and couldn’t keep his lips from twitching into a grin.

And for the first time since they’d sat down for their meal of mixed defrosted dishes the strained atmosphere finally relaxed. Not completely, but enough to loosen that last knot of unease in his chest.

He was finally home. Not “home” in a local sense, more in an emotional one.

With seeing his brother smiling at something Regina’d said instead of taking it as offense his last worries crumbled into dust, leaving him weightless. Completely content. He felt at peace with the world and himself and he couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before. Maybe as a child, but that had been such a damn long time ago. Being with Priscilla, holding her and their little baby girl close and forgetting the world had been the closest he’d ever been to this feeling.

_I’m where I belong. With my family. United at last._

_We’re whole again._ I’m _whole again._

And indeed, that hole in his heart, that gaping chasm that Bucky’s loss had left behind, that emptiness that had become a part of him had carefully scabbed over without him really noticing. It wasn’t healed yet and it was still tender, but it was whole again.

That unfamiliar mix of an unburdened soul and a heart brimming with happiness made him jaunty. Almost daring.

So he leaned his elbow on the table and placed his chin on the tip of his thumb, turning his head to the left towards Regina, the mother of all cocky smirks on his face.

“Naah, that wouldn’t work.” He shook his head a bit. “He looks way too much like one of my exes.”

This time it was Regina who was choking on a sip from her juice. Apart from her coughs and the clanging of a piece of cutlery on the floor there was only stunned silence. Steve’s eyes were wide as saucers and stood out amidst his nicely blushing skin. Bucky frowned, his brow pinched so hard it seemed he was trying to read his mind. But, he’d taken his eyes off of Regina for the first time.

_Alright, maybe that was a tad too much._

_Maybe._

He glanced at Grace who looked a bit startled, but mostly curious. He winked at her, a lopsided grin on his face. She held his gaze for a moment then started laughing. She punched his arm, shaking her head the whole time in amused disbelief.

“ _Papa_!” It sounded indignant. Chiding. And definitely more than a bit embarrassed with her old man. She was giggling nonetheless.

The others followed, a bit uncertain at first, but sharing a laugh in the end. The atmosphere felt even better after that.

_Enough with that, Jefferson. You want to know something. Don’t wait for her to get the hint. Ask her!_

As the laughter died down and only the occasional chuckle sounded he leaned back and looked at Regina. “So, wanna tell me now what you really did with my pendant?”

Taken aback the woman turned, pursing her lips in indignation. “You mean before you left? I already told you.”

He backpedaled a bit, realizing that accusing her might not have been the best approach. “Sorry, it’s just… this pendant,” he opened the buttons at his cuff and pushed his sleeve back a bit, “led me to Bucky. It _tugged_ me along. That was magic! And you did something to it before I left so I assumed…”

She snorted quite condescendingly. However, he was willing to ignore it. “Yes, I did. And yes, that _was_ magic. But it wasn’t mine.”

“Huh?”

He felt the others straighten up and lean closer more than he saw it.

 _So there really_ was _something going on with that pendant. And she holds the answers._

“You both got those pendants, right?” She looked at Bucky’s chest at that. The circular form that was outlined by his tight blue shirt gave it away. As did his brother’s instinctive reaction of placing his hand over it as everyone started staring. “They’re from the same stone?”

If this was going where he thought it was going then Regina was wrong. “Yes,” he affirmed her last question, “but Bucky only got his one back a few days ago. It was lost and we found it again by pure chance. He- he wasn’t wearing it when we were looking for him.”

Regina leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on the table. This time she addressed Bucky directly, something she hadn’t done throughout their entire meal.

“Let me guess, when you got it back, that was when your memories came back.”

Jefferson blinked.

_God I’m stupid!_

How did he fail to connect the dots when they were practically jumping into his face? They’d found the pendant and minutes later he’d remembered the story behind that photograph. They must have been too stunned and elated to notice it and later everything had happened so fast. As his eyes focused again he found Bucky staring at him. He was rubbing the fingertips of his right hand together.

_The shock. Of course!_

Regina didn’t wait for an answer. All of their faces right now were answer enough, although he assumed that she’d already known it since she hadn’t phrased it as a question. Right now she was nodding to herself, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “blood magic.”

“What?” He wasn’t the only one asking. He was the only one, though, who added, “Are you being cryptic on purpose?”

She suddenly reached for his arm. He noticed that Steve had put a hand on Bucky’s arm who’d tensed up just as fast as she’d moved.

Regina stopped mid-motion. “May I?”

It was a nice change being asked first. He nodded and moved his hand closer to her while turning it palm up. The blue stone stood out against his pale skin.

One of her hands hovered above his. A second later the stone was emitting a soft golden glow. As did the one on Bucky’s chest. It was bright enough to show through his clothes.

“What did you do?” his brother demanded to know after he flinched back and tensed up.

“Just checking.” Regina lowered her hand and indicated that he could take his arm back. The glow vanished instantly. “You see, stone magic is almost as old as time itself. It’s subtle, but unalterable. Not every stone has an inherent magic, of course, and each type of stone has different qualities. Some boost creativity, others help in alleviating nightmares and some are even powerful enough to offer protection against dark magic. It really depends on the stone. The one you have is a rare gem indeed. It’s called a lapis lazuli. They’re quite common in this world, but they can’t be found in the Enchanted Forest. The only ones back there have been brought in from other worlds. To be honest, I always thought it quite ironic that you wore one of those.”

“How’s that?” Now he was even more curious than before.

Regina shrugged, conveying an unspoken apology with her dark eyes. “This kind of stone is known to have power over the mind. To help lessen confusion and boost inner strength and hope.”

He huffed. “Yeah, I can see the irony quite clearly.”

“It didn’t work,” Bucky grunted.

_For neither of us._

“No, it didn’t. It couldn’t. These specific stones are also a means for creating connections. Or strengthening already existing ones. Like the close emotional bond of twins, for example. This ability – just like its other properties – can be enhanced by magic. Blood magic is the simplest method. You just need to dip them in the blood of these ‘connected’ persons.”

_The warm light of the fire danced across his mother’s features as she sat cross legged on the floor, rubbing at something in her hand. He squinted to get a better look._

_It was the blue stone pendant she’d been working on for awhile now. She held it in her hand and wiped at it - she called it polishing he remembered – with a red cloth._

He drew in air through his teeth at that realization, making a hissing sound.

 _It_ was _blood! She used our blood!_

“Your connection was cut off for decades. So when your pendant,” she looked at Jefferson, “came back close to the blood it was connected to it drew you in. And when you,” she pointed at Bucky, “put yours back on that connection was finally restored and the stone’s magic amplified potentially. It helped you unlock your memories.”

_Now, as long as you’ll keep these stones with you you’ll never be truly alone. You’ll always carry a part of each other with you._

His eyes were instantly drawn towards the blue pendant. He took his left wrist in his right hand and like so many times before rubbed his thumb across the smooth stone.

Their mother had meant that, quite literally. The woman who he remembered mostly sullen or screaming at him had put so much effort into protecting them. It made his heart ache, but it also filled him with warmth.

Being together again had saved his brother.

“Wow! This is _so_ cool!”

Grace’s excited exclamation made him look up and smile. She pulled her chair closer and leaned across the corner of the table to snuggle up against his arm, beaming. They’d always been close but he suspected that her guilty conscience about the things she’d said to him under the influence of the curse figured into her desire for being close to him now. Not that he minded. On the contrary, he enjoyed it. She was a young teenager after all and moments like these would only get rarer.

She took his left hand in hers and examined the stone for herself.

Bucky’d pulled his pendant out as well, holding it in one hand, a look of fascinated wonder on his face. Steve leaned closer, staring over his friend’s shoulder at the small piece of jewelry as if it were an impossibly complicated puzzle and the Holy Grail all in one. But then he looked up, directly at him. And Jefferson wasn’t sure if he liked that intensity in his gaze. The blond nodded softly as if he’d finally found the answer to a question that had been bothering him for a long time.

“It affected you too.”

The certainty behind that statement puzzled him. Yes, he’d felt the shock at touching the second pendant together with Bucky but that’s it. What was he talking about?

“Nonsense! I’d know…”

Regina interrupted him. “He’s right, Jefferson. You’ve changed.”

_What? What the hell is going on here?_

“It’s true, Papa.”

Somehow hearing it from his daughter made it hit home, made it real. Undeniable.

_Have I really changed? Am I different?_

He tried to look inward, to find an answer, to not worry about what Grace might think about that new version of her father that he never even knew existed.

She squeezed his arm and grinned up at him. “I like it!”

Unable to keep himself from smiling back, he did and pressed a quick kiss against her hair. Nonetheless, he needed answers, so he turned back to Regina and Steve.

“Changed in what way?”

“You’re much more balanced and confident,” the blond mused.

Regina nodded. “And you got your flippant mouth back. You almost remind me a bit of the arrogant, pompous, suicidal idiot that I met a long time ago.”

“Whoa,” his indignation flared, not just at her words but also that challenging smirk of hers. “I wasn’t suicidal!”

The dark-haired woman snorted. “The way you talked with Rumplestiltskin? Oh yes, you were! Also, if you would’ve stared at my breasts any harder even my old self might have smacked you in the face!”

His chuckle at her reproachful glare turned quickly into a cheeky grin. “Well, that _was_ a nice cleavage that day!”

Regina’s face cracked up into a real smile. “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking ab-“ The ringing of a phone interrupted her abruptly. “Sorry, that’s mine.” She pulled it out and stepped out into the hallway to take the call.

Jefferson watched her leave, thinking. Maybe she was right. They all were. He hadn’t realized it before, but he _had_ changed. All that feeling unburdened and light-hearted, it wasn’t _just_ that he was home again with his family. Something in his mind had changed without him noticing. The constant fear, the self-doubt, it wasn’t exactly gone, but greatly diminished. And it had made room for other traits of him to strengthen, to resurface.

_Remember, my boys: you’re one soul, divided in two parts, because it was too bright, too special for one being alone. Cause that’s what twins are. And that’s why they’re always stronger together._

It seemed their mother had been right. _Together_ they were stronger.

So, in the end, it had been her.

Their mother’s love had saved them both.

“WHAT? Gold did _WHAT_? I’m coming!”

The outraged outcry from the hallway startled them all. Grace sat back and the two soldiers on the opposite side of the table immediately tensed up at its suddenness. A moment later Regina stormed back into the room, fuming.

“Thank you for the meal, but I have to leave now.” It sounded pressed and she barely looked at any of them when she grabbed for her blue coat on the back of her chair.

“What happened?”

She snorted. A disgusted and angry sound. “Apparently Gold almost killed Hook and tried to make himself immortal or something and Belle banished him from the town for that.”

“WHAT?” He couldn’t seem to connect her words to the people he knew. It made no sense. Rumple had changed, had married Belle and-

It made no sense!

“Is he alright? Killian?”

Regina’s face softened a bit at Grace’s question and she nodded. “He’s fine. I need to go now and sort through this mess. Thanks again. Bye.”

And with that she hurried away, leaving them all staring. Unsure at what had just happened.

“Should we… help or something?” Steve asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Still stunned he simply shook his head. “No. Regina, Belle and Emma surely have it covered. Anyway, I’m sure they’re all pissed right now. One of them furious is scary enough but all of them? I have absolutely _no_ intention of getting in their way.”

Rattled by these newest events Jefferson stood up, feeling the need to move. He piled the plates up with Bucky’s help and carried them over to the sink. When he turned back again Steve stood up, a strangely torn expression on his face that sounded alarm bells in his head.

“I guess I should be going as well.”

_What? Now?_

_No! Not so soon, you can’t!_

_You only just came here. And he- he’ll go with you and-_

“What? Why? You just got here,“ Grace said, voicing his very thoughts.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. Now it was him who looked torn.

_He’ll leave. He’ll leave. Oh God, please…_

This was exactly what he’d feared. He’d just never expected it to happen so fast.

Steve took a deep breath. His whole body language betrayed his unwillingness to go. “It’s because of Robin and Marian. I can’t leave them alone with Tony. For all of their sakes. And anyway,” his voice took on a cautious, questioning tone, “I think Tony deserves an explanation.”

He held the blond’s gaze, knowing that he waited for an answer to the hidden question. Back at the townline, as he’d seen Stark’s reaction, he knew the man wouldn’t be fobbed off for long. Sooner or later he’d start investigating and he wouldn’t give up until he had answers. He still didn’t like the man. He couldn’t measure him up, couldn’t tell if the secret of Storybrooke was safe with him.

_He helped Bucky in the end._

But he relented. Closing his eyes for a moment, he nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

Surprised, Steve puffed out a short breath. “You sure? I thought you wouldn’t trust him.”

“I don’t.” He wouldn’t lie. “But you do. And that’s enough for me.”

A warm smile tugged at the blond’s lips while his eyes stayed serious, almost solemn, as he nodded. He would honor the confidence put in him and make sure that Stark did the same.

The sound of someone clearing his throat and a movement out of the corner of his eyes made him cringe. It was Bucky. He stood there, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, looking uncomfortable.

_Oh God, that’s it!_

_I don’t- I don’t want to hear this. Please…_

“Steve, I- I won’t come with you. At least not right now.”

_What?_

_Did- did he really?_

His heart was skipping a beat, setting him off-balance. Thankfully he was already leaning against the counter.

“Oh you fool!” Steve sighed affectionately. “I never expected you to. You’ve got a family here. And I’m sure a bit of peace will do you good.”

There seemed to be more going on, a second conversation, communicated by glances alone. It made it pretty obvious that these two knew each other by heart, regardless of what had happened in between. Jefferson could only speculate. There was a big bundle of memories his brother had to come to terms with which he hadn’t had time for so far. At all. And there was Hydra. They were still looking for him. But at least in Storybrooke he’d be safe from them.

Whatever it was they were “talking” about, they seemed to agree on it.

“And hey,” Steve grinned and nudged Bucky with his shoulder. “I just need to make sure Tony doesn’t scare them off. Or gets overexcited about the fact that he’s got Robin Hood in his house. Afterwards… well, what I’m trying to say is, I could need a little vacation anyway. So, if you’ll have me…”

Jefferson rolled his eyes at that stupid question, still floating on his relief that his brother would stay. That they got a chance to get to know each other properly. All of them. As a family. “What do you think, idiot? There’ll always be a room for you here, Steve!”

And suddenly that goodbye didn’t feel just as bad as before. Together they headed for the door, where the blond picked up his shield and leaned it against the wall outside. He turned to Grace first, hugging her.

“Look out for them, yeah?”

“You bet!”

Bucky stepped forward next. His tense shoulders betrayed his unease. He looked as if he wanted to say something, as if he doubted his decision – which he probably did, judging from everything he’d learned those two have been inseparable for so long – but Steve was having none of it. He simply pulled his friend close, bumping his forehead against Bucky’s.

The change was immediate.

His brother’s shoulder’s relaxed and his eyes closed, simply enjoying the moment with a contented smile on his lips. Neither said anything. Then Steve ended it and pulled Bucky into a tight embrace.

“Take care.”

“I won’t do anything stupid until you come back. Promise! You assigned me a babysitter after all.” Bucky gave a small nod in Grace’s direction that made his long hair sway.

Steve rolled his eyes and pulled back, giving the other’s shoulder a playful shove. “Jerk!”

“Punk!”

Jefferson was so taken in by their display, by that deep rooted friendship, that he was unprepared when Steve was suddenly staying right in front of him. It felt strange to see the man off who he’d shared a room with for weeks. Months. The man that had come out of nowhere and become such an integral part of his life.

He realized that he didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Steve, um…” The words weren’t coming. Because he had no idea what to say.

But Steve just smiled and then there were hands on his shoulders and before he knew it he felt the other’s brow against his own. And words became unimportant. He relaxed in the familiar touch, the familiar gesture. One that meant more than reassurance.

It was a gesture of belonging.

Of brotherhood.

Of family.

And it felt _right_.

The moment ended and they embraced each other.

“You too. Take care, okay?”

“Sure. You’re always welcome here.”

Jefferson smiled and stepped back next to Bucky, placing an arm around Grace’s shoulders in the process while the other man lifted his shield.

“Steve?” He waited until he had the blond’s full attention. He couldn’t let him leave without knowing. “Bucky’s not the only one who has family here. Just wanted you to know that.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who thinks that I used the magic of the pendants as an easy fix for their mental problems, this is what I intended in case I couldn't get it across the way I wanted:  
> Being separated hurt them both and losing that strong mental bond/connection made them susceptible for further damage. So, getting that connection back means that it's easier for them to focus, to not feel alone and to see the good things in life. It helped with unlocking Bucky's memories, but that doesn't mean all the problems those memories cause are just healed or forgotten.  
> You'll see what I mean - hopefully - in the epilogue.
> 
> For all of you:  
> See you tomorrow, one last time, for the epilogue.


	23. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night back home...

Epilogue

 

The house was quiet this time of night. It was still dark but soon dawn would greet this new day. His first real day back in Storybrooke, with his family. That at least put a smile on his face.

With a heartfelt yawn he rubbed his bleary eyes and cursed Hydra and evil curses alike for stirring up memories and fears that he had no interest in revisiting. He really hadn’t been keen on a rerun of his nightmares starring both Rumlow and his daughter.

_Gooood, I need coffee!_

He shuffled along the hallway to the kitchen when a cracking sound – eerily loud in the silence of the house – startled him out of his trance. That’s when he noticed the soft light that flickered beneath the living room door. Frowning he stepped closer and opened the door, careful to not make a sound.

Warm, orange light filled the room and conjured strangely unthreatening shadows that danced across the walls. The crackling and whooshing of the blazing fire in the fireplace immediately banished his annoyance and the last lingering tendrils of dread from his mind. His eyes were drawn to the flames, to their soothing, never-ending dance.

Bucky sat on the floor, cross-legged, right at the edge of the fluffy carpet. In nothing but his shorts and a too tight T-Shirt.

Jefferson softly rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. He had no intention of startling his brother.

“Heard you already.”

_Of course you did._

“Oh…” He closed the door behind himself and stepped closer. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He got no answer.

It was only fair. It had been a stupid question. Why else would he come down here in the night and start a fire. He adjusted his dressing gown and sat down next to his brother. It wasn’t cold, a bit chilly at the most, nonetheless he had to close his eyes against the blissful warmth that hit his face and front. These heating systems in this world were a blessing but nothing could compare to the dry, caressing heat of a fire.

And he couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky’d started it because of a nightmare about the cryogenic chamber.

“We used to roast bread on sticks over the fire,” his brother said out of the blue.

Long gone memories formed into pictures before his mind’s eye again and his lips tugged into a lazy grin. “You always burned your tongue because you couldn’t wait for it to cool down.”

“And you always wanted it crispier. You almost burned them to a cinder.”

“But they crunched _really_ good.”

Bucky chuckled. Low and dry and it made his long hair that obscured his face move. Jefferson joined him. And he wondered. Maybe it hadn’t been the warmth alone that his brother’d been seeking by starting a fire. Maybe it had been that feeling of safety and belonging that he’d craved.

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. Just the opposite.

He simply enjoyed the easy camaraderie, soaked up the pleasant heat and let the hypnotizing dance of the flames drag him down memory lane. Back to all those many evenings they’d spent in front of the fire, the whole family. Watching their mother working on her stones or learning how to carve an animal out of a piece of wood from their father.

“Jeff?”

“Hm?” he hummed, lulled by the warmth of fire and memories alike.

“How do you do it?” Bucky’s voice was low and quiet. But there was something intense vibrating in his tone that made his eyes snap open and his attention focus. “How do you reconcile those two different sets of memories in your head with one another?”

Jefferson took a deep breath. It wasn’t hard to see where this was coming from and it also wasn’t hard to see that there was more to that question than met the eye.

_He’s talking to me! He wants my advice!_

Even though the topic was serious he couldn’t help the elation that set his whole body alight. Bucky was opening up to him!

He clasped his hands together to hide their shaking and leaned his chin on them.

“You mean the memories from the curse? That Regina gave me?”

“Mmh.”

Bucky still looked into the fire. Or onto the floor. He couldn’t tell with the curtain of his dark hair. He wished his brother would look at him, that would make it easier to gauge his reaction. He just- he didn’t want to screw this up!

So Jefferson steeled himself, because no matter what, he wasn’t going to lie either.

“I’m the wrong person to ask.”

Bucky’s shoulders slump and he gave a stiff nod that sent his hair in motion.

He’d seen enough of his brother these last weeks to be pretty sure that he currently pressed his lips into a grim, thin line. So he hurried to explain.

“That curse has been different for me than the others. I _knew_ what was going on. I _knew_ that those memories inside my head were false. That they weren’t real. Yet I still felt the pain and desperation they held. But I’ve never _been_ this other person. I’ve never really lived his life. Not really. Not like Grace or Victor or the others in town.”

“I see…” It was quiet and subdued and clipped.

He couldn’t take it anymore. So he reached out and placed his hand on Bucky’s forearm. Skin to skin. And finally – _finally_ – his brother looked up at him. The dancing flames reflected in his eyes, highlighting their lost expression.

He gave the arm a reassuring squeeze.

“But this isn’t about memories, is it? This is about _being_ different people. It’s about this other person living inside you that cannot possibly be a part of you. That did horrible things. The one that you’re afraid of. It’s about this person that you try to forget or run away from but no matter what you do or where you go it’s always lurking in the shadows, watching you. Taunting you. And when you least expect it, it jumps at you from behind.”

With each sentence the creases on Bucky’s forehead grew deeper and more prominent. As did his confusion.

It made him huff out a soft laugh. “Don’t look so surprised! You’ve got the Winter Soldier and I’ve got the Mad Hatter.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open slowly, as if he wanted to say something, but instead he closed it again, a thoughtful – and very serious – expression on his face.

“I don’t have a universal remedy at hand, I wish I would. And I’m probably the worst example ever when it comes to coping. Most of the time I’ve been running from that crazy guy within me. I wanted nothing more than to leave him behind once and for all. At other times I embraced him. Embraced the madness as an escape. Neither worked for long. I- I don’t know… getting Grace back helped. But that little bit of crazy is still there, deep inside. It’s a part of me now, if I want it to be or not. Sometimes I can accept that. Other times I can’t and I hate it. I hate what it did to me and I hate myself for not being stronger. But I learned one thing for sure, Bucky! One very important thing! Just because that other person is there, is a part of you, that doesn’t mean you have to _be_ that person. Your past doesn’t have to define you. You can be whoever you want to be!”

 

 

 

Jefferson inhaled the rich scent of his coffee and took a sip. His eyes never left the moving figure outside. After their talk Bucky had been quiet at first, contemplating his words before he’d opted to combine his musings with his need for exercise as soon as the darkness outside gave way to the first cold, gray light of the new day.

They’d set up a room for Bucky after Steve had left. And he’d raided his wardrobe again – this time more thoroughly – for anything that would – hopefully – fit his brother. They really needed to go shopping today and get him his own stuff. A smile tugged at his lips. He could practically hear Grace’s enthusiastic squeal at the prospect of a shopping tour.

His eyes were still on Bucky as he was running through the woods in a longsleeved T-shirt that threatened to rip apart any moment, together with sweats that also were a bit on the tight side and combat boots. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

The moving figure finally vanished between the trees. The fog on the ground swirled back, closing the whitish blanket again that covered cart track and forest floor alike. Cloaking everything in an essence of mystery. He loved it. He only hoped Bucky wouldn’t get lost. But he’d shown him the best way for a run and how to circle back on one of his maps.

A tired yawn behind him made him turn. His frown only deepened when his gaze fell on Grace. Or the zombie that bore a vague resemblance to his daughter.

“Up already?” he asked, one of his eyebrows arched to new heights.

She shrugged half-heartedly which made her pajama top slip even further and expose her right shoulder. She didn’t even mind, only trudged into the room on autopilot. “Couldn’t sleep.”

_You don’t say._

Next thing she threw herself onto the couch, her head on the pillow in the corner as always, and curled up on her side with the heavy sigh only a tired teenager could produce.

“I dreamt we were fighting and- I was so pissed I- I pushed you and then you fell down the stairs and-“

“Oh Grace.”

He grimaced at her weary tone and her rising distress. With few quick strides he crossed the room and placed his cup on the table to sit down next to her head.

“Don’t let this curse get to you like that. It’s over. And that wasn’t you, honey.” He stroked some strands of hair out of her face and tried to smooth down the rest of that entangled mop by carding his fingers through it.

“I know, but-“ She stilled and her eyes narrowed in confusion. “A fire?”

Jefferson chuckled softly. It really spoke volumes of her exhaustion if she only noticed it now.

“Bucky made it.”

“It’s nice.” Her lips tugged into a lazy smile as she sank even deeper into the pillow and relaxed. “Where is he?”

“Running.”

Her eyes shot open again. “Running? This early? Is he crazy?”

This time he chuckled in earnest. Her outburst reminded him too much of his own reaction two months ago at finding out about Steve’s and Bucky’s morning sessions. Grace only buried her face into the pillow with a groan.

“What about some hot chocolate?”

“Pleeeaase!”

When he came back a few minutes later with a steaming cup that spread a deliciously sweet scent through the room Grace was asleep. He placed the cup on the table and pulled the woolen blanket from the backrest of the couch. With a fond smile he tugged her in, cherishing this rare opportunity. She was growing up so very fast and he’d missed way too much.

He sat down next to her again and watched her sleep while he finished his coffee.

The first night home.

The first night that they were all together.

And none of them had gotten a good night’s sleep.

He sighed and let his eyes get drawn in by the dancing flames in the fireplace. It would take time to heal. For all of them. Most of all for Bucky. But they would manage. They had each other after all.

Maybe he should call Archie. After the first curse had been broken they’d talked a few times, well, to be precise, Archie had sought him out for some reason to make sure he was okay. Something about his calm and open demeanor had made him open up. Or maybe it had been the complete lack of judgement in his eyes. And he’d offered advice. It hadn’t seemed like much at the time, but it had kept him thinking. And in the end it had helped him to settle back into a life with his daughter and find an arrangement the Woods could live with as well – in the end, real memories or not, in a certain way they were here parents as well after all.

He was sure Archie could help Bucky with coming to terms with his past. Maybe he even knew a way to undo the remaining programming of Hydra.

His gaze swept across Grace’ sleeping form for a moment. She looked pale and tired, even in her sleep. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if Grace also had a chat with Archie. He sighed. The same certainly applied for him as well.

His lips twitched as he huffed out a silent laugh.

_Maybe we’ll get a family discount._

Yeah, that was a good idea. But he needed to speak with Bucky and Grace about it first. Later. There was no hurry. They were safe here.

With a content sigh he leaned back to rest his eyes for a moment.

He startled up from his snooze, disoriented for a second and wondering what-

The insistent ringing of his cell phone in the kitchen answered that question before he was even done asking it. His eyes darted to Grace while he jumped up. She was still sleeping soundly and he wanted it to stay that way so he hurried into the other room, grabbed the phone and stepped out onto the terrace on impulse. The cold and somewhat humid air woke him up a bit. He checked the caller ID.

Unknown.

Frowning, he took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy scent of moss and spruce and _home_ and finally answered the call.

“Yes?” Maybe not the friendliest way to greet an unknown caller but hey, it was so damn early it was practically still nighttime.

“You son of a bitch!”

_What…_

_What the fuck???_

_Is this a prank call?_

_Asshole!_

“The _fucking_ Mad Hatter!!?? For _real_!? That wasn’t just crazy talk?? Well, it was the crazy talking but- you’re seriously the real thing???”

“Stark?”

He blinked against the unexpected onslaught at this _ungodly hour for crying out loud!_

Dammit, he hadn’t nearly enough coffee – or sleep – for handling a squealing, shouting and in general way too enthusiastic and _awake_ sounding _madman_!

“Two months and you never… There’s a fairytale dimension??? And you… The _Mad Hatter_ , the _real thing,_ was in my house and… why did I never get a tea party?”

Jefferson rolled his eyes. “Stark, it’s 6am. It’s not-“

The other man ignored him completely.

“You lied to me, Cravat Boy!”

“I didn’t lie-“

“I used to drive Jarvis crazy with my theories about the Mad Hatter. I guess he regretted the day he gave that book to little me.”

Even though his mind had trouble with imagining Tony Stark as a kid, arguing with his computer program – wait a minute? When had he built that thing??? – he could sympathize with Jarvis.

“You know what that means, right? You owe me a tea party! And some explanations! How do you open portals to different worlds? How long can they stay open and how do they work? Is it just for one way trips? What other worlds are there? Is it like parallel universes or- can you travel to other planets? Are all the fairytales for real? How does magic work? Still not really convinced there _is_ such a thing as magic, by the way, but- hey! Is Alice real, too? Can you invite her to the tea party? Come on, you _have_ to! There’s no tea party without her, right? And I’d love to…”

Jefferson palmed his face and rubbed his eyes. A deep and long-suffering groan escaped his throat.

_This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening!_

No matter how often he repeated it in his mind it just didn’t make it go away.

_Damn you, Steve!_

He regretted his decision of bringing Stark into the loop already.

_Coffee!_

_I definitely need more coffee for this!_

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is truly the last chapter and it's over. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and leaving kudos. And a special thanks for all your lovely comments (ghostwriter107, I'm gonna miss our little comment-chats!). 
> 
> I hope I could do the difficult topic some justice - as well as the characters - and I hope you had a good time with this series. I certainly had.
> 
> I absolutely love the characters - each one for themselves as well as in a crossover - and I've got some ideas, so... even if there won't be another part to this series I'm sure I'll take these characters on other adventures in the future. Just keep your eyes open (or subscribe if you want it the easy way *g*) and you might spot some MCU or OUAT stuff in the upcoming months.
> 
> So, see you!

**Author's Note:**

> A penny for your thoughts :)  
> Or a new chapter for your comments ;)  
> Nah, I'm not that mean. You'll get the new chapter no matter what... but still, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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